


push you out, pull you back in

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, American College, Anal Sex, Anger Management, Belly Bulging, Bottom Louis, Cock Warming, Dom/sub Undertones, Fashion Student Louis, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Lingerie, M/M, Pet Names, Pining, Protective Harry, Rimming, Size Kink, Strangers to Lovers, Top Harry, Unsafe Sex, full tags in notes, medical student harry, mild anger issues, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25268383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Harry grips his head in his hands helplessly, yanking the base of his dark curls and squeezing his eyes shut.“Fucking hell,” he whispers, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping the strands of his hair.“Hey, hey,” says the petite stranger in front of him, quickly standing up. “Stop, you’re hurting yourself.”–Or Harry hates feeling vulnerable. Louis is set on breaking through his tough facade.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 62
Kudos: 490





	push you out, pull you back in

**Author's Note:**

> **full tags:** Alternate Universe - College/University, American College, Medical Student Harry, Fashion Student Louis, Strangers to Lovers, Pining, Fluff, Getting together, Pet Names, Bottom Louis, Top Harry, Size kink, Size Difference, Shy Louis, Protective Harry, Anal Sex, Anal fingering, Rimming, Light Choking, Frottage, Oral Sex, Dom/Sub Undertones, Manhandling, Hand Jobs, Overstimulation, Body Worship, Cock Worship, Cock Warming, Louis In Panties, Lingerie, Come Play, Come Eating, Hurt/Comfort, Coming Untouched, Unsafe Sex, Face-fucking, Breathplay, Belly Bulging, Brief Mentions of Medications and Panic Attacks (although they are not discussed in further details) 
> 
> so, my first fic is finally out! but first, a few clarifications that need to be made: this story is set in the US, but given my ignorance about its medical school system, it turned out more of a mix between the US college and the university system in my own country. that’s to say that inaccuracies may occur :)  
> harry’s parents aren’t referred to in further detail, considering they play the _“evil”_ role and i didn’t want to portray his real family like that.  
>  **trigger warning!** there’s a scene in which a guys _tries_ to kiss louis without his consent, but he doesn’t succeed and nothing happens. i don’t know if that’s considered sexual harassment, so i didn’t tag it, but it might be unsettling for some people, so i hope you’re reading here beforehand!  
> also, i would like to thank ris, for being the most amazing and supportive beta and **friend**. thank you for encouraging me to write this and supporting me all the way through, you are amazing.  
> a special thanks to sarah as well, for being just as supportive, giving me his _very important_ opinions and making sure i didn’t make a fool out of myself!  
>   
>  **DISCLAIMER:** it has been brought to my attention that some topics discussed in this fic were misconceived. I am in **no way** trying to villainize or demonize using medication as a way to function normally or contribute to the harmful stigma that medication is evil. This fic is entirely based on my personal experience, and what I tried to do was giving the point of view of a person who was **NOT** professionally treated, but instead wrongly advised by their friends/uni mates. It's really harmful when ignorant people try and give you suggestions regarding medications in real life, you should always seek professional help, the matter is too delicate to let your uneducated friends or even family deal with it. This is something really personal that I've experienced on my own skin, and it was really the only thing I was trying to portray here. I'm so sorry if I hurt anyone, it was not my intention and I did it unintentionally. Medication is **NOT** evil nor harmful, however letting not trained/incompetent people intervene in your clinical situation without any knowledge on the matter (like it happens in the fic) could be. As a med student myself, I cannot physically be against medication, and as a treated patient myself, I strongly advise it when needed. I'm really sorry, again. English is not my mother tongue as well, and I didn't have anyone read this disclaimer through for me so I really hope I didn't phrase anything incorrectly. My dms/messages on either twitter or tumblr are open if you ever want to tell me anything about this matter.  
> 

The campus’ cafeteria has always been a bustling and lively place, not at all what you would expect from a typical study spot, but Harry finds it fitting nonetheless. 

Ever since he was a kid, his parents taught him that the best way to achieve higher results is to practice under constant pressure. Strategies to optimise your training must focus on learning a skill correctly, and then practising said skill sufficiently to avoid compromising your performance.

And what’s more unpleasantly challenging and frustrating than studying in hordes of loudly obnoxious people? 

He groans deeply, as he feels someone bumping against the wooden table he is currently sitting to for the hundredth time. His  _ Clinical Knowledge  _ books are scattered all over it, covering messly the whole surface, so it shouldn't really come as a surprise when they topple over and fall to the ground, along with three hours worth of notes. Also, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal, but again, it is. 

“Watch where you’re fucking going,” he growls towards the guy, crouching down to retrieve his notes before someone steps on his one way ticket to pass the only exam worth his medical license. 

It’s no help that he’s been sitting on the same chair since eight in the morning, and he’s having trouble activating his weighted and atrophied limbs, so when he bends down, he tries really hard not to bang the back of his head against the table. 

He doesn’t succeed. 

The thing is, the guy didn’t even stop to properly apologize. He straight up ignores Harry and keeps on laughing with his friends, like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just waste the ridiculous amount of effort Harry made to keep most of his shit neat and tidy on this incredibly small and non-functional coffee table. 

“Watch your tone, mate. I’m sorry, but it’s not like I did it on purpose,” he shoots back in annoyance, the hint of an unrecognizable accent tinting his voice. “Besides, what the fuck are you trying to do studying  _ here,  _ of all places? There’s a thing called library, you should try it out, mate.”   
  
A roar of laughter rises from the jerk’s group of minions, who have been observing the whole thing from behind.

And of course they would make fun of Harry; he’s outnumbered, clearly pissed off, a very easy prey if you will. 

Harry knows, subconsciously, that he’s kind of right. A mentally stable medical senior would have never chosen a crowded cafeteria to prepare his USMLE. Hell, no one in the right mind would. 

Had Harry been back in his freshman year, he would have taken the piss too. But he’s not, not anymore. He’s changed, dramatically so. 

So it’s just natural for him to stand up, puff out his chest and claim his good ten inches over the guy – he smirks devilishly when he realizes he has at least twenty pounds on him. He worked his ass off at the gym for years, sue him for taking advantage of that when needed. 

The jerk with the basic buzz cut look seems to be suddenly aware of their size difference, and tries to square up as well, but it’s clearly no match. 

Harry feels boiling anger coiling up his stomach, his hands start to itch uncomfortably and his head feels empty: in the meantime, he recognizes two fellow seniors lining up alongside the prick, in a pathetic attempt to side with their friend. 

The cafeteria has died down considerably: there’s few to none people who either didn’t notice the commotion or decided to stay out of it. The lady behind the counter stops dead in her tracks, and by the look on her face, it’s clear she’s sick and tired of having to deal with hot headed students who act nothing like adults.    
  


She tries anyway. “Guys, please. What’s going on?” 

Apparently it’s useless, because the next thing she knows, Harry’s deep voice has rose well beyond its natural texture. 

“There’s a thing called ‘mind your own fucking business’, you should try it out,  _ mate, _ ” Harry spits, narrowing his eyes into slits, a sudden gush of fury and vitriol tinting his voice. 

He knows, deep down, that his aggressive behaviour is, ninety-nine percent of the times, plain irrational and totally uncalled for – unbeknownst to him, Liam once made the brilliant decision to book a professional therapy session for people with anger issues. 

Needless to say, Harry wasn’t thrilled about it. Liam found out the hard way.    
  


Regardless, he is well beyond the point where his emotions are still under his control. And it’s not just anger, to be honest. 

He developed very bad anxiety during his first one-day USMLE test at the end of his second year of medical school and nearly had a panic attack. The same feeling has been brewing inside of him ever since. 

He cries a lot, too, even though he tries hard not to. And, to top it off, he started suffering from migraines, the  _ ‘imagine if someone opened your head, filled it with razors and shook it’  _ kind. 

As if on clue, the familiar throbbing pain starts to spread persistently among his left temple, and he can see blind spots appearing in front of his eyes. 

One of the three guys standing in front of him takes a step forward, but as soon as he lifts his arms in a likely attempt to push Harry back, a voice cuts the thick air like a blade.    
  


“Blake, chill out, man,” says a brunette head. A boy is standing a few feet away from him, icy blue eyes and a small smirk making its way on his face. He’s lowkey built, but it might be a fictitious trick of his white V neck tee, rolled up though on his biceps. Harry swears he hears somethings vaguely Irish in his tone. “He’s twice your size, you don’t stand a chance!”    
  
_ Blake  _ retrieves both his hands, and tucks them safely inside his pockets, “Always spoiling the fun, Horan, I’d expect nothing less,” he mutters, turning around and finally taking off. 

The crowd piling up in front of the pastry glass display has considerably died down, and the tension in the atmosphere dissipates as soon as the former gang of musketeers get their sorry arses out of the cafeteria. 

Unfortunately, Harry can’t say the same about his migraine. 

There’s a burning nausea feeling building up in his esophagus and a funny taste in his mouth that reminds him that it is nowhere near being done. Harry curses under his breath as a wave of piercing discomfort flashes in his skull, blood pumping hotly in his set of jugulars. 

He drops down in his seat like a rag doll and sighs loudly: there are still small shacks of paper scattered all over the floor, dirty with footprints and dust.

“Hey man, you alright?” asks the brunette, “Do you want a glass of water? You look like you’re going to puke your eyes out,” which,  _ accurate _ . 

“Niall, please, give him some space. He’s clearly worked up,” and if someone told him  _ that’s  _ the last thing he’s going to hear in his miserable life before fucking off for good, then so be it. 

This almost feminine voice soothes his aching ears, it’s high and imperceptibly raspy, and if voices were textures, this one would have been pink soft satin. 

He lifts his head up as he stares at a boy, and how in the world has he missed him when he walked in with his friend –  _ Niall,  _ it would seem. Even in his fogged state, his beauty is undeniable: he’s small, rather curvy, and on top of his hourglass body, stands a pretty doll face, serene blue eyes staring deep into his soul. 

He takes a peek of thick black ink emerging from his sweater and he wants to roll his sleeves up to get a better look.

The little  _ angel  _ frowns, shifting between Harry and the floor: then he bends down, and carefully starts to collect all of his missing papers, dusting them off and stocking them all together on the coffee table.

He sits down in front of him, but as soon as he opens his mouth to say something, Niall’s voice comes hammering at his skull once again, “Listen, we want to help you, but you need to give us something to work with. No offence, but you look like shit,” he concludes. 

“None taken,” Harry replies gutturally, “But why do you have to be so fucking loud? Also, nothing to be concerned about. Be quiet, and I’ll be just peachy.” 

“Excuse me?” Niall asks, bewildered. 

“Let me break it down for you. I have this terrific headache, and you’re definitely not helping,” he mutters bitterly, bile rising in his throat and blazing angrily against his uvula. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” 

Admittedly, he feels bad. This Niall guy had the best of the intentions, but unfortunately he so happens to be an infernal walking megaphone and Harry so happens to be the biggest ass to ever walk planet earth but as they say, to each their own. 

Although what really takes a lot of strength to ignore, first and foremost, is the cherubic creature sitting right in front of him. There is a great possibility he has already blown every chance of ever talking to him again, after the countless stunts he’s pulled during the last hour – one of which targeted his own friend, for crying out loud. 

Just as Harry’s about to make a move and stand up, the boy lifts his lilac purse on top of the table and blindly searches inside of it, while silencing a very outraged Niall with an obliging look. 

“I should have something with me, hold on,” he whispers quietly. “I get stabbing headaches too during study sessions, and this works wonders.” 

He hands him a blister pack of light blue tablets Harry recognizes as ibuprofen; he locks his eyes in the boy’s comforting stare, and in response he gets a brilliant shade of pink adorning his freckled cheeks. If their hands brush together in the small exchange, Harry tries not to focus on it too much.

This total stranger is looking at him through his long and luscious lashes with a look of pure concern written all over his lovely and alluring features, biting his glossy bottom lip – is he wearing  _ fucking  _ lip gloss? – and not at all minding that roughly two minutes ago, Harry was straight up the biggest entitled prick to his own head-splitting companion.

He smiles tiredly, and he’s sure it looks more of a grimace than an actual genuine smile but his migraine is getting more severe by the second, his neck feels stiff and the only way to foil this ticking bomb inside his brain is to get the fuck back to his dorm and swallow two tablets of Zomig down. 

Harry grips his head in his hands helplessly, yanking the base of his dark curls and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Fucking hell,” he whispers brokenly, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping the strands of his wild hair. 

“Hey, hey,” says the petite stranger in front of him, quickly standing up. “Stop, you’re hurting yourself.” 

And then he’s suddenly next to Harry, and despite the situation being borderline aggravating now, his nostrils flutter when hit by a sweet and tender scent of vanilla. He feels soft and tiny hands touching his and trying to gently disentangle them from his hair; he gives in almost immediately. 

“I’m Louis. We should call someone, so they can come pick you up,” he whispers close to his ear, untangling their hands, “There’s no way I’m letting you walk alone like this.”   
  


_ Louis. What an enchanting name for such a beauty,  _ Harry thinks. For a moment, too focused on how fitting this name sounds coming from those tempting lips, he almost feels his meninges cooling down a bit.

Harry slowly blinks his eyes open, and finds Louis prompting him to scoot over in order to take a seat right next to him. 

Louis brings his hand up, and cautiously begins to scratch the wide expanse of his back, uncoiling the knots in his spine and soon reaching the back of his neck.

He cradles his head soothingly,  _ tenderly _ . Harry’s vertebrae vibrate as a shiver travels down his spine, and Louis catches it, giggling quietly in his hand.

Harry is suddenly  _ very  _ aware of their close proximity. 

It should feel unwelcome and dreary, is the thing. Whenever someone gives him unwanted attention, Harry always ends up awkwardly dodging the gesture; his tendency in engaging in physical contact, whether from a close friend or an acquaintance, has always caused him retributive discomfort. 

But this is strangely not the case at all. 

He wants to take Louis back to his dorm, turn off overhead lights and close the blinds in his room. He dreams of curling up together under the soft duvet, holding Louis tight against his chest, and letting him knead the strained muscles in his hands, arms, shoulders,  _ everywhere.  _

He pictures himself closing his heavy eyes, holding onto Louis’ wide hips for dear life, as the smaller boy hums a lullaby in his ear and  _ what the actual fuck.  _

Harry widens his eyes; Louis is still rubbing the back of his neck, tugging and releasing the little strands of hair he finds there, and while he certainly feels on cloud nine, he’s literally displaying some hardcore PDA with some random stranger in the middle of the campus’ cafeteria. 

“Holy shit.”   
  
Indeed.

“Uhm, I don’t– I’m fine,” he drawls hoarsely. “I can manage on my own, but thank you.”

“You don’t look fine to me,” Louis says quietly, minty breath hitting his cheek.    
  
“You heard him, Lou,” barks Niall, impatiently. 

Harry sees Louis standing up from the corner of his eyes, and he expects the two to leave altogether: a strange feeling sits down in the pit of his stomach. As soon as Louis stopped touching him, it was like a bucket of icy cold water was thrown at him straight in the face.

The pleasing warmth was roughly lifted from his body, and he feels weak as fuck all of a sudden. 

He vaguely registers Niall turning his back on him, and walking away without bidding farewells. Not that he deserves them anyway. 

Already making every effort not to forget the feeling of small hands brushing away his problems, he doesn’t notice his duffle bag being lifted from the floor onto the table, until he detects a pitiful whimper and a dull sound coming from behind. 

“Here, I’ve already packed your stuff,” Louis smiles, cheeks still rosy. Harry starts to wonder if that’s their actual color. 

“You didn’t have to, but thanks. For everything, really,” says Harry, locking his eyes with Louis’. “Tell your friend I’m sorry, by the way. Headaches make me…  _ uncivilized _ , I’m not usually like that.” 

_ If only. _

Louis stares at him, tilting his head slightly to the side and tucking his feathery fringe behind his ear, “Oh, don’t worry, it’s fine. I’m sure you meant no harm,”  _ Yeah, right–  _ “Anyway, I should get going. It was nice meeting you...” His voice lilts into a question.

“Harry.”   
  
“Harry,” Louis repeats, bringing the hem of his sweater past his fingertips and rubbing his hands together.  _ Adorable shit and where to find it,  _ “Please, call someone to pick you up, Harry. I would do it, but I need to get to my afternoon fashion class, and I’m  _ fashionably  _ late already.” 

Harry chuckles lightly and stands up but he loses his balance as soon as the back of his knees straighten up to carry his weight.    
  
Louis is right there in a second: he grips his bicep with one hand, while the other one settles in the middle of his chest, ironically close to his heart. Harry squeezes his sensitive eyes shut the moment the room starts spinning uncontrollably around him, landing both of his hands in the dip of Louis’ narrow waist. 

Blinking his eyes open languidly, he’s aware of three things: one, in order to reach Louis’ height, he would need to bend his knees at almost a ninety degrees angle.    
  


Two, he so craves to strip Louis out of his sweater and feel his dewy skin under his fingertips.

Three, Louis is  _ definitely _ wearing lip gloss. 

He gawks at Louis, retrieving his hands nervously. A grimace curls over his lips, ashamed at his thoughts. “I’m sorry,” he mutters apologetically. 

“It’s okay, I still think you should call someone,” offers Louis gently. 

Harry nods. “Yeah, yeah, on it.” 

“Well, see you on campus then,” he replies sweetly, a shy smile making its appearance on his face.  _ He looks so soft and docile, holy fucking shit.  _

Harry hums distractly, and Louis hooks his purse on his arm, waving his sweater pawed hand as he turns around and heads out of the cafeteria. 

Something stirs in Harry’s lower parts, and twists when his eyes trace over the trenchant arc of his slender waist and the curve of his round and plump arse, hugged in light washed mom jeans. 

Admittedly, he feels like a jackass for ogling the mouth-watering curves – _ and face, and lips, and hands, and–  _ of a fellow student he just met. The potential boner growing slightly in his trousers, migraine and all, suggests that maybe he should think about getting laid. 

But then again, that’s not the point, is it? It’s not like he  _ couldn’t,  _ if he wanted to. Men and women throw themselves at him all the time: be it at the grocery store, or during classes, even the few times Zayn and Liam managed to drag him to the club for a few drinks, he always had plenty of opportunities to pull. 

Was he interested in any of them? Hell no. Is he interested in Louis? Hell yes. 

He retrieves his phone somewhere in his back pockets, staring at it intensely, the sharp stinging in his temples making it hard to focus. 

_ ‘Please, call someone to pick you up, Harry.’  _

He ends up walking back to his dorm alone. 

—

“C’mon, H,” shouts Liam, coming out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips, “This party is going to be sick- the amount of booze that’s going to be there, holy shit! Besides, I’ve already told Sean and James you’re coming.”   
  
Harry groans loudly, head slumping back in annoyance. 

“And why the fuck would you do that? You know I hate both the  _ things _ you mentioned,” he replies, flipping through his book and scribbling hurriedly on different pieces of paper. 

“You’re the first twenty one-year-old senior I’ve met who hates parties and alcohol, seriously,” says Liam, dropping unceremoniously on the bed. 

“I was talking about Sean and James, actually,” he mutters. “Tell them I’m not coming. Or don’t, I don’t give a fuck.”

“Oi man, you sure you’re not into bottoming? ‘Cause seems to me like someone found a pole and stuck it up your ass, lollipop,” snorts Liam, ass bare and on display while he reaches the top drawer to find some briefs. 

“Pretty sure indeed, this dick’s too big to be wasted like that,” Harry shoots back, standing up with both his books and some hair clips in his hands, “Can’t relate, can you now?” 

Without listening to his best friend’s lame response, he approaches the kitchen where an idle Zayn is binge watching  _ La Casa de Papel  _ for the hundredth time and stuffing his mouth full with a cheeseburger. 

“The way I wake up  _ every day  _ and just know I will eventually have to put up with the bullshit coming from both your mouths and  _ still  _ not move out,” he hisses, sliding his stuff onto the kitchen table and angrily collecting his hair into the clips.    
  
“What’s up your ass today?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, why don’t we ask Liam?” he retorts.

Zayn tosses up his shoulders. “Are you mad about it?”   
  
“Yes, I fucking am.”   
  
“Then it’s done its job,” spits Zayn. He  _ literally  _ spits. “Look, H, we just don’t want you to overwork yourself. Take a break, you know?”   
  
“I’m not. I’m doing the bare minimum, actually,” he sighs, “Just– try not to burn the whole complex down, alright?” 

Zayn laughs, patting him slightly on the shoulder as he stands up and shuts down the tv. He crumples up what’s left of his meal – _ absolutely nothing _ – and throws it in the trash can. 

Liam chooses this exact moment to make his royal ass appearance in the living room and calls out for Zayn. 

“See you tomorrow, man. Remember, jerking off on the couch is strictly forbidden.” 

Harry grunts. “I was thinking more of your bed.” 

“You do that, and I’ll beat you the fuck up, no cap.”    
  
“No way, I’m twice your size, you don’t stand a chance!” he bites back, only half sarcastic. 

It hits him like a rocket. Those same words he heard barely two days ago. And it’s like a time loophole breaches the peaceful silence draping on their room.    
  
He hazily registers Zayn giving him the finger and slipping out of the door. Five seconds later, the door closes with a loud click.    
  
_ “Hey, hey. Stop, you’re hurting yourself.”  _

_ “I’m Louis.” _ _  
_ _ “Here, I’ve already packed your stuff.”  _

God only knows what Harry would give to hear that silky voice close to him again. Mewling contently in his ear, nosing along his jawline and leaving a trail of wet, feather-light kisses on his cheek, his ear, his hair, his eyelids. He wants to fall asleep, feeling dizzy and sated, the warmth provided by Louis’ body laid flat on his chest a tender reminder of the presence of this  _ sweet creature.  _

Harry moans deeply, feeling high strung and dumbstricken; he reaches the front of his sweats and is not surprised when his cock twitches painfully, rock hard and leaking through the fabric.    
  
He knows very damn well that it’s not thinking about snuggling Louis to sleep that has got him to be  _ this  _ aroused, but the memory of those sinful curves, that have been  occupying his thoughts like a shapeless hunger; his intoxicating scent, those sleek lips–  _ fuck _ , he’s so little, he could fit under him without a problem, shielded from the rest of this ugly world. 

He makes it to the bed, a small victory, as images of Louis spread out in front of him flood his lobes. He pictures himself squeezing his pappy cheeks in his calloused hand, swallowing his airy cries with his mouth and plunging his tongue–  _ Buzz. _

What–

_ Buzz. _

The–

_ Buzz. _

Fuck.

Harry shakes his head in a weak attempt to rub Louis’ lilting voice eliciting ungodly noises off his mushy brain, and grips the vibrating phone on the nightstand in his shaking hands. 

“H-hello?” he answers breathlessly. 

“H, man, sorry to bother you-” Harry groans. _ “ _ But I kinda forgot my phone back in my room and I really need it right now,” Liam’s voice reaches his ears through the speaker.

“How the fuck are you calling me if you forgot your phone here?” he mutters, wincing as he pats his crotch.

“I’m calling you from Zayn’s, didn’t you see the ID?” says Liam, “Anyway, I need you to bring it over here for me. I’m in a bit of a  _ situation _ .” 

  
_ Yeah, that makes two of us.  _

“What the fuck are you on, Liam? Must be some pretty good shit if you really thought I would–”   
  
“I’m doing your laundry for a month.”

He lapses.

“Four.”

“Two.”

“Two and half.”   
  
Liam groans loudly. “Work with me, H!” 

“I am. You’re doing my laundry  _ and  _ my chores for two months and a half, you have three seconds or you can kiss this offer goodbye,” Harry says, incredibly serious at that. 

“Alright, alright, Jesus,” the other hurries, “Now hurry the fuck up.” 

Harry hangs up before Liam can get out another word. His aching boner has considerably subsided due to his unpleasant conversation with Liam, but there’s still a little tent in his briefs and it looks like he isn’t even wearing any.  _ Too bad.  _

He jogs into Liam’s room, unplugs his phone from the charger and reaches the living room. Once he’s tucked his keys securely in one of his pockets, he hits the road. 

The walk from their room to the one holding the party is fairly quick, but dreadful all the same. He bumps into a couple of pissed off drunk girls who try very hard to lure him in their room, but he shakes them off briskly. Additionally, the acrid smell of vomit and alcohol is getting sharper with every step. Soon enough he finds himself knocking at the trashed door. 

Loud music is pumping inside the small habitation, and he gags at the revolting smell still lingering in his nostrils. 

He knocks again, getting impatient. Nothing. 

He groans in discomfort, rolling his eyes in the back of his skull and quickly deciding for the most reasonable and practical solution: he sides the door, flexing his bulging bicep and shouldering it in a quick motion. The lock breaks and the door is suddenly swinging open. 

_ Good God–  _

That’s exactly why he hates parties to the core. And alcohol. And Sean. And James. 

Inside of the room, everything is darker, the music unbearably louder, and Harry struggles to keep an eye on his surroundings when he’s being tossed left and right like a goddamn flipper. 

He spots Liam almost immediately, sitting down on the sofa, an arm draped around a giggling brunette. 

So  _ that’s _ the situation he was talking about. Nice. 

He whistles, seeking both their attention, and is that– 

“Harry Styles, you the man!” Liam screeches, jumping up, and grabbing his phone. “I need to save this Irish babe’s number in my phone. Didn’t want to leave him all alone, did I, Niall?” 

Hold the fuck on. If Niall’s here there’s statistically a high chance that Louis is also here. And an even higher one of them bumping into each other. 

Too caught up in his daydream state, he almost doesn’t notice Niall sending daggers in his direction. 

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. So you’re friends with the asshole.” 

_ Almost.  _

Liam looks jumbled, and he would have laughed at his ridiculous expression, had he not been in this wearisome situation. 

“Uhm– yes? Wait, why did you call him–?” 

“O-kay, you guys, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to further discuss important matters like Niall’s  _ biased _ opinion about me,” he offers, sporting the smile of a Cheshire cat. “But I think I’ll pass. I’m looking for someone, actually. Do you happen to know if your friend’s here too? You know, Louis?” 

“Funnily enough I do, yes. What’s in it for you? Do you want to ask him if he wants to play with your hair or scratch your back or even give you a real good dose of postcoital cuddles? Like the other day in the cafeteria?” smirks Niall. Which.

_ Low blow _ . But. Maybe? 

“Would he be willing to?” he asks, and sees Niall charging in his direction before backing off and disappearing in the swimming crowd. 

He starts wandering around and stops dead in his tracks when he sees  _ him,  _ leaning effortlessly against the wall, nodding his head in the direction of a tall- _ ish _ guy standing in front of him.  _ Louis  _ is wearing a purple satin crop top with thin shoulder straps, that boldly shows the skin of his cushiony belly, and– is that a  _ fucking _ belly ring? 

_ For the love of all that’s good and pure in this forsaken universe, get a fucking grip, Harry.  _

White trousers and matching platform boots finish his look, and he might have gained a few inches, but Harry could still lift him up easily with one arm, even. 

His dewy skin is glowing under the harsh neon light, tattoos glistening, and in his soft, caramel hair, lays two pearly hairpins. His chest feels taut, stretched wide across the vision of his boy. He aches to cage him in his arms, and grind lazily, so slowly, against him. Or maybe he just wants Louis to stand there, looking like a wrapped gift sent from the Heavens above, admiring his angelic beauty unabashedly. He’s not quite sure which one sounds more appealing.

He’s abruptly snapped out of his trance when he sees the guy taking a step forward and fiercely settling a filthy hand in the crease on Louis’ neck. He starts to lean forward. 

And Harry sees red. 

Anger is usually bad, but possessiveness takes it to a whole different level. He is a jealous son of a bitch. It doesn’t help that to this day, his shallow understanding of the human’s nature has him convinced that emotions like anger, resentfulness, despair and jealousy should be acted out upon. 

They are poison, and poison ought to be let out. 

However, his caveman streak ceases as soon as he sees Louis widening his eyes, pushing his dainty hands against the man’s shoulders and frantically scanning his eyes around the room before locking them with his. It’s just a second, but the world stops and quietens down. 

He’s mouthing something at Harry, and before he can even interpret what Louis’ trying to communicate, he’s scurrying towards the couple. 

_ Help, please.  _

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he shouts disbelievingly, narrowing his eyes. “You piece of shit!” 

There’s a piercing ringing in his ears as he pushes the guy against the near wall and easily manages to pull him into a doom chokehold, strangled between the wall and his forearm. 

He knows what he’s doing, having read about it a dozen times: compression of blood or air-filled structures which impedes circulation or function – in particular, compression of anatomical neck structures, the windpipe, leading to asphyxia. 

He’s a medical student, and a very good boxer, thank you very much. 

“Do you think that’s okay, huh? Assaulting people? Kissing them without their consent?” he seethes, a sinister grin morphing his features. “He pushed you off. He  _ fucking  _ pushed you off because he was feeling distressed and threatened and instead of fucking off like a  _ decent  _ human being, you just had to push your luck, didn’t you?” 

Harry snarls, gritting his teeth and pushing his forearm more forcefully against his throat. The guy in front of him is urgently gasping for air, his eyes bloodshot and a frightened look of consternation printed over his face. The fact that he’s not even attempting to resist speaks volumes, and his domineering self feeds from it

Louis stands frozen behind Harry’s broad back, wrapping his arms tightly around his middle and shaking hard like a leaf. He feels light-headed, confused, and overwhelmed. It doesn’t help that this place reeks of everything he so deeply loathes, and he so  _ needs  _ to be comforted right the fuck now. 

He feels a wave of uneasiness stirring in his chest, rising goosebumps all over his arms, and the next thing he knows he’s planting a shaky hand in between Harry’s defined shoulder blades. 

“Harry, please,” pleads Louis frailly, “I need to leave, I’m– I can’t–” 

At that, Harry turns around startled, and his prey seizes the opportunity to slip out of his hold and dart away. 

It’s the most heart shattering scene he’s ever had the displeasure of witnessing: Louis looks so broken and lost, salty tears collecting at the corner of his eyes, lips bitten red and forehead scrunched in discomfort. 

He closes the distance between them, pondering his choices. He longs to wrap his body around Louis’, making him feel safe and sated, discovering his insecurities, fears, only to kiss them away. 

But he  _ can’t _ . Louis has just been fondled against his own will and all he can think about is doing the same exact thing.  _ So much for comforting,  _ he thinks remorsefully. __

He follows the trail of tears streaming down Louis’ face, dripping off his chin and finally collecting in the notch between his milky clavicles. 

“Hey, hey, it’s over, I’m here,” he offers lamely, attempting to at least sound soothing. “Let’s get you out of here, okay? I’ll find Niall.”

“No, wait,” stutters Louis, distressed, more tears leaking through his eyes. “I trust you, please, I just– I need to get the hell out of here,  _ now _ .” 

He’s staring at him with trusting and lenient wide, watery eyes, and that’s oddly enough to break Harry’s flimsy resolve.

“Alright, don’t worry, it’s going to be okay,” he soothes. “C’mon, let’s go, I’ll text Liam. They’re together.” 

He extends his hand, wanting to wipe his tears down, but then he quickly retrieves it like he’s burnt himself. Except Louis doesn’t let him, catching said hand in his smaller one and curling up under his armpit, tucked into his side. 

Harry’s utterly shell-shocked at the move, but starts loping towards the exit nonetheless. 

He feels the heat radiating from Louis’ body next to his, and he tries not to focus on how his hand completely engulfs Louis’ smaller one. 

He fails.

Taking deep breaths while his heart pounds in his clenched stomach, he elbows through the horde of whirling bodies, craning his neck to get a better look at where Liam and Niall might be. 

With a sigh, he concludes they’re nowhere to be seen, and with one last stride he reaches the broken door, pulls it open further for Louis and sets his free hand on the small of his back to lead him outside, shielding his body from unrequited attention. 

Once they’re out, he can trace every creased wrinkle on Louis’ usually smooth and pretty face, and he hears his hoarse, wrenching sobs crystal clear. The vice-like grasp Louis has on his hand doesn’t loosen up even when he shelters him a few feet away from that shit-hole, contemplating what to do next. 

“Can I hold you?” he asks hastily, white-faced and grim. “Please. Or whatever you need, really, I can walk you back to yours. Do you want some water? I can’t just– Whatever it takes to ease you down. I’m not going to hurt you, I swear.” 

Harry has always been a provider for the others, regardless of his  _ rather questionable personality traits _ . He  _ cares _ , and he cares deeply, feels the full burden of guilt come so easily whenever he’s not able to make up for his loved one’s deprivations. 

And though Louis isn’t  _ exactly  _ a loved one – _ yet _ –, he craves to measure up to his needs just as much, especially right now. 

Sensing his eagerness, Louis bites his bottom lip, and detangling their sweaty hands, he crouches against his welcoming chest, in a quailing manner. 

Harry clasps his small frame protectively in his arms and presses Louis’ forehead against his pecs; he squeezes him tight against him, as if he believed that embrace would deceive the pain and convince it to pass them by, to return some other day, or never for that matter. He cradles his body, wanting nothing more than lifting him up, and rocking him back and forth to settle him down. 

Louis is still worked up, tears gathered on his long and dark lashes. As Harry threads through his gauzy hair slightly, he quickly slides the two hairpins off to get better access, pocketing them alongside his keys. 

Louis eases against the compulsion of his strength, and falls lax in his firm hold as the sobbing gradually ebbs into a pitiful sniffling. Both his arms are trapped between their bodies, crumpling the soft texture of Harry’s thin white shirt in his fists, and for some odd reason, he feels pleasantly grounded like this. 

“Shhh, it’s okay, you’re safe,” Harry hushes him, massaging his scalp with the gentle pads of his fingers. He begins by making circular movements on top of his head, presses gently on the nape of the neck and strokes through his hair to calm him further.

The whole time they stand in the hallway, Louis pitifully clings to Harry, nuzzling his cheek against the fabric of Harry’s and inhaling deeply, like he’s trying to catch a scent lingering there. 

He feels  _ safe,  _ unthreatened and guarded. And it’s a foolish move overall, because he’s a  _ stranger _ , a very handsome one surely, but still a stranger, and what could possibly make Harry any different from the hundreth of pigs he’s already crossed paths with? 

Despite his seemingly well-grounded argument, he stays put, clinging to Harry and feeling his firm chest vibrate with each soothing word he is reserving for him. His lullying voice and intoxicating scent is slowly bringing him back, and he feels so weary, he just wants to strip off this fucking clothes, change into Harry's current ones and go to sleep.    
  
It takes five minutes for the tears and hiccups to stop, but eventually they fade, and Louis parts from his nest in Harry’s shirt. 

Harry is quick to grab his softly rounded chin and crane his neck up. On his crimson cheeks are trails of hot, dried tears, clouded eyes blinking slowly at him. “How are you feeling?” he mumbles softly, stroking his cheek with a thumb.    
  
Louis’ lips fall open, “Much better, thank you.”    
  
Harry nods, releasing his chin and clearing his throat. “‘M’ glad,” he says, “do you want me to walk you back to your dorm? I mean, if you’re comfortable, that is. Or we can wait for Niall here, if you prefer a– you know… less crowded space?” 

A small smile arises on Louis’ mouth. “You don’t have to, I must’ve already ruined your night, I don’t want to be a burden. Besides, I don’t have the keys. And I can’t exactly call Niall, because the asshat forgot his phone,” he sighs, “You go have fun, I’ll wait here.” 

“What’s with everyone forgetting their phone today?” Harry scoffs. “And you’re absolutely not a burden, I’m glad I got there in time. FYI, if the outfit didn’t quite give it away, I wasn’t here for the party.” 

“What the fuck is FYI?” he lets out a high-pitched laugh, a real one this time. “I’m– so thankful to you, Harry. Really.”

“Don’t thank me. You shouldn’t have to worry about being in a situation like that in the first place,” he grumbles. “It’s disgusting, and I’m going to have a conversation with Sean and James about letting scumbags attend their parties.” 

  
“It’s– college, I guess,” Louis whimpers under his breath. 

“Could be the Courts of Heaven for all I care,” he says, caressing Louis’ cheek tenderly, “it’s sickening, vile, and revolting that people think they can get away with shit like that- that they think they’re entitled to another person’s body. It’s fucked up.” 

Louis grasps his hand blindly, and nudges against it. Harry believes he’s never been  _ this much _ into there being a size difference between him and a partner, but the way Louis' slim fingers barely circle his wrist hits him in a whole different light. 

_ You’re so tiny, baby.  _ _  
_ _  
_ Louis is looking at him with glazed eyes. “Hm?” 

“What?” he asks. 

“You said something?” 

Harry pales. “No, I didn’t.”  _ His traitor of a dick did.  _

He hums in response, and before he can get out anything else, they both hear Louis’ name being called. 

“Lou, c’mon, it’s time to– You? Again?” 

Louis jolts, lowering his hand from his own cheek but not letting go whatsoever. Niall is standing in front of them, quaking an eyebrow at him, perplexed. 

“I’m coming, Ni, gimme a minute,” says Louis, quickly darting his attention back to him. “He isn’t your biggest fan.”   
  
“Yeah, I figured.”    
  
Harry’s hands are getting embarrassingly clammy in Louis’, but he doesn’t seem to mind, especially as he stands on his tiptoes and puckers his lips, aiming his downy lips right on the cheekbone. The first brush of his lips against Harry’s cheek has his breath hitching embarrassingly loudly.

Louis lingers a second too much, squeezing his hand feebly before he gracefully lowers himself. Harry fights the urge to touch his cheek, the imprint of Louis’ lips burning on his skin. He feels so high with it that just for a moment, he considers being possessed. 

This is not him. He doesn’t blush for a kiss, especially only on the cheek, for fuck’s sake. He isn’t a handsy kind of person, and he  _ definitely _ doesn’t dream of tucking people under layers of warm blankets and engaging with them in some serious PG-13 sessions of cuddles. 

So, clear signs of possession, indeed. 

_ Louis is not people, jackass.  _

Trying to wipe the flow of his thoughts away, he smiles sweetly at Louis, and as he’s about to loosen their tangled hands and leave, he masters up the courage to pull him back again, and press a feathery kiss on top of his head. 

“Can I have your number?” asks Harry, handing Louis his phone. “Here, save it, I want to be able to check on you.” 

Louis nods shortly, obliging. Their fingers brush as Louis gives it back and Harry bites back a groan as he sees the other shiver delicately. “So, uhm– I’ll see you around?” 

“Louis, bring your ass!” shouts Niall, impatiently waving his hands to get his attention. 

Harry shakes his head in disbelief – _ ten minutes, could he just not be a pain in the ass for ten minutes– _ , “‘Course. Sleep tight, m’kay?” 

Louis assents, waving mellifluously one last time before taking off. 

Watching Louis go, Harry quickly sends him a message.    
  
**Hey, it’s Harry :)**

He can’t help but get lost in his thoughts. All things considered, his brain’s a mess, but he can distinctively outline the thread of one peculiar thought. A thought that scares him, but has him longing for more at the same time. 

His phone lights up.

**_louis here!_ **

**_...on a completely unrelated note, do you really think i’m t h a t tiny, baby? ;)_ **

_ It is astonishing how little time it can take for a wonderful thing to happen.  _

—

The sun has not peeked above the horizon yet, but Louis is already awake and restless. The dim light that enters the room from his drawn curtains is barely enough to lit his silhouette, hugged loosely by suede rose silk sheets. He rolls on his side, Coco flat out on the bed alongside him. 

“Go to sleep, buddy, don’t worry about me,” he whispers, petting the puppy’s head lovingly. He adopted Coco barely six months prior, a marvelous Aussie shepherd, when his previous family got rid of him, newly born, at the shelter because, apparently,  _ “She was born with complete heterochromia, and unfortunately he turned out blind in the blue one. He’s bound to lose sight in both, eventually. They didn’t like that.” _

Louis shivers at the memory. Coco is his pride and joy, and to this day, his most loyal and faithful friend. He cradles his fluffy body like a toddler, rearranging them so that Coco can fit his little head in the crook of his neck. 

He wails miserably as he remembers his shoulder being seized, him trying to cower away but to no avail. He took three showers once he got back to their room, desperate to wash those grimy fingertips off his body. Niall asked him what happened several times, but he felt so hollow that he couldn’t bring himself to answer. 

And then there’s  _ Harry _ , the other side of the coin. Just thinking about him submits him in a slumber-like state. He seems like such a nice guy, with a generous and tender heart. He gave and never took, so generous and caring. He could have pretended not to see when Louis was in distress, it wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened. Instead, he came to Louis’ rescue and then proceeded to take good care of him, sheltering him from the ugly place of self deprecation he was deeply falling into. 

He falls into a light slumber, nuzzling into Coco’s body subconsciously.

However, he’s abruptly shaken awake by a loud knock on the door and a swearing Niall balancing a tray of baked goods and a glass of milk in his arms.

“‘Morning, baby!” he shouts, setting the tray on his queen sized bed and sitting on the edge.

“Since when do you call me baby?” asks Louis, letting go of a wiggling Coco and reaching for both the pastries and the cup of milk. “Mmh, warm, just the way I like it, thank you.” 

“Since I was talking to Coco, actually, not you. Come here, baby girl!” he says, opening his arms wide for the little bundle of joy to stumble into. 

Louis scoffs. “To what do I owe the honor of having brekkie in bed? My birthday’s in December, just saying.” 

Niall laughs softly, but he seems aggravated. “Lou… what happened yesterday?” 

Louis knew that he wasn’t going to just drop it, might as well just get this over with. 

He plunges a pillow and stuffs his face in it. “Bad Guy wanted to talk. Bad Guy said I was really pretty, then Bad Guy tried to kiss me, even though I pushed him away. Nice guy came and saved the day. Almost choked Bad Guy to death. The end.” 

“Are you serious?” yells Niall, detecting the dismissing attitude Louis always got as a coping mechanism to avoid talking about serious matters. “What the fuck? Why didn’t you come get me?” 

“Oh, excuse me if the first of my concerns at the time was getting the fuck out of that God awful party  _ you  _ forced me to come to!” Louis says, borderline hysteric. “Listen, I don’t blame you. Everyone should be able to attend a party  _ alone _ without the fear of getting harassed. Fucking drop it, already.”

As much as he wants to avoid this talk, and every thought related to it, the dull ache in his chest hasn’t ceased. He whistles in Coco’s direction, and the puppy crawls happily in his lap, bringing warmth and soothing away the uneasy feeling.

Niall is visibly taken aback. “Shit, Lou, I’m so sorry…This is so fucked up, I– nevermind, if you don’t want to talk about that, I won’t bring it up. Just know I’m here for you, anytime,” he says, extending his arm and taking one of Louis’ hands in his. “Let’s change the subject, shall we? What’s up with you and Harry?” 

Louis fidgets underneath Niall’s inquiring gaze and wraps his arms protectively around his cotton clad middle. 

“I helped him feel better in the cafeteria. He helped me calm down at the party. Mutual sympathy, I guess.” 

“You know it’s more than that. You’ve been pining over him since the day his last functioning brain cell decided to finally implode.” 

Louis’ face morphs into irritation, but he can’t deny the implication. Ever since their  _ serendipitous  _ encounter in the college’s cafeteria happened, he’s been thinking about Harry nonstop, goggling dumbly at his bulging and tattooed shape. He recalls his body all tensed and stiff, muscles taut in a defensive stance back in the cafeteria. He was so ready to pick up a fight.  _ One on fucking three.  _ He couldn’t stop his mind from drifting to the image of Harry’s ship tattoo stretching itself around his strained bicep. 

Tall and brawny with an angular jaw and classic beauty, he is definitely Louis type.Those chocolatey brown curls framing the most gorgeous pair of gleaming green eyes and full lips just make matters worse.

He couldn’t stop reminiscing how warm Harry felt against his smaller body, how his hands molded against his scalp and gripped his chin so firmly yet still gentle. The way his deep voice uncoiled the knots in his stomach. 

“He has nice hands.” 

Niall quirks an eyebrow. “Nice hands?” 

“Yes. And they’re so big and strong. Much bigger than mine, he’s so–” 

_ “You’re so tiny, baby.”  _

“– _ bigger _ than me…” he concludes, voice dazed. 

In front of him, Niall is rolling his eyes so hard in the back of his skull, he’s afraid they might get stuck. 

“Earth to Louis, he’s a total ass!” he exclaims, flailing his hands for emphasis. 

“To  _ you _ . He was a total ass to you, because you didn’t shut the hell up,” he replies, setting a very sleepy Coco down. He gets up from the bed, putting on his baby blue robe, and reaches the living room. 

“Not a selling point. I’ve seen him twice, and each time Hell broke loose. First he wants to turn a melting pot into a boxing ring, and now he wants to strangle people. He’s completely neurotic!” insists Niall from his bedroom. “Not to mention that ridiculous cross tattoo he has on one hand!”

Louis ignores him, in favour of plopping down to the couch and tilting his head backwards to the armrest. “You fucked his friend, right? We could double date.” 

“I didn’t,  _ yet.  _ And Liam’s actually nice. That Harry bloke gives me bad vibes.” 

“Why do you think he’s so evil?” 

“Not evil,  _ moronic _ ,” says Niall, joining him on the couch, “Evil suggests some forethought, moral intention, you know? He just lashes out. Acts on instinct, and he’s loud and proud to go around fucking up and–” 

The sound of Louis’ text's ringtone interrupts Niall’s monologue, and he darts in his room to retrieve it, not sparing his friend another glance. 

**Hey, good morning! I was wondering if you were free today. 10 PM, outdoor cafe?**

“Niall! He just asked me out, I think!” he screams, “And he totally left me on read last night, the bastard. Tiny baby my ass.” 

“What do you mean ‘ _ I think’ _ ? And your ass is definitely not tiny, what are you talking about?” says Niall, clearly fed up with his shit. 

He clutches his phone in shaky hands.

**_Sounds great, see you there!! :*_ **

“Forget it, I need to get ready!” Louis says, hands on his hips. He gives Niall a sly look. 

The man interprets it immediately. He shakes his head vigorously. “Oh no, no way. I am  _ not  _ helping you pick an outfit. Do you know how difficult you are? I refuse to subject myself to that sort of torture.” He crosses his arms as if to emphasize his point.

Louis raises an eyebrow, crossing his own arms and mirroring Niall’s stance. 

Niall huffs. “Fine.”

—

Harry feels nervous and jittery. He’s never been good with raw feelings, and Louis might have just cracked open his sealed Pandora box. He can feel it in his bones, the ache of craving Louis every second, needing him close, missing him more than he should considering it’s only been a day. 

The shameless fear of losing him, of not being  _ enough _ and seeing his insufficiency mirrored in Louis’ eyes, is too much for him to handle.

To top it off, he has been positively  _ neglecting _ his school work. He’s so fucked. 

He sucks in a breath as he recognizes Louis’ form making its way towards the cafe. He looks disoriented for a second, twirling around, and Harry gets a bit dizzy at the sight of Louis’ amazing arse, clad in jean shorts. 

If someone told him he was prone to lose appetite and eventually never eat again, he would love to have  _ that  _ as his last meal.

He waves his hand up high, calling out his name. 

Louis lifts his head, biting his lip sweetly, and rushes eagerly towards their seats. Only then does he recognize a pink, glittery leash connected to his wrist, and a bubbly puppy galloping alongside him. 

“Hey, Harry! Sorry for being a little late, but Missy here decided to throw a tantrum while I was in the shower, pretending to have separation anxiety and actually hopping in the shower with me!” Louis giggles, leaning forward for a hug, “Took ages to dry her out.” 

Harry smiles broadly, dimples appearing on both his cheeks, and bends down to meet Louis halfway, going as far as stamping a little kiss on his button nose. 

Louis is not ashamed to admit that he melts. 

“You have dimples!” he says, poking them with his fingertips. 

“And you have a little creature there,” says Harry, crouching down at his level, and scratching behind his ears. Coco wiggles his tail happily and nudges Harry’s hand, licking excitedly in between his fingers.    
  
Louis is staring at them lovingly. Despite his best efforts, he pictures lazy afternoons, his window slightly open, a frosty breeze making his body shiver pleasantly. Behind him, there’s Harry. Louis is settled in between his thick legs, exposing his neck as the bigger man trails a path of wet, open kisses along the column of his throat, his large hands gripping the soft pudge of his tummy tenderly. 

Coco follows soon after, nudging her fluffy head against Harry’s hands and claiming her space in their little nest. 

Before he can withdraw his mind from its far places–

“Lou?” Harry snaps him out of his domestic bubble. 

“Mmh?” he inquires, scarlet tinting his cheeks.    
  
“I asked you what her name is?” 

“Oh, it’s Coco.”    
  
“As in coconut?” 

“As in Coco Chanel,” Louis says, taking a seat at the table and hiding his blush behind the menu, “You know, fashion designer major and all. I know it’s clichè.” 

Harry picks Coco up and settles her in his lap, taking the opposite seat. “It’s not, it’s really cute. You’re really cute,” he offers, shakily. “So, how are you feeling?”

Louis giggles bright at the compliment, “I’m– fine. Didn’t get any sleep, really. But I had both Niall and Coco to keep me company.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m glad you had someone by your side, especially if this same someone is as cushiony as this one,” he says, kissing the top of the puppy’s head. 

Harry stares at Coco’s amusement, bouncing on his thighs, “I’m still so fucking mad about what happened at the party.”

“I’m feeling much better, if it helps you. I’m not a party lover, Niall basically had to bribe me into coming… I guess now I can remember why,” he hints, scornfully.

The taller gives him a sideways glance of sympathy and knows better not to inquire any further. “So, about Niall… does he still hate me?” 

“Hate is a strong word. Thoroughly dislike would be appropriate,” says Louis, wincing. “He swears he’ll break your legs if you try anything with me.”

“Oh? Is that so? I’d like to see him try. While I still have them, I’m sure I can run much faster.” 

Louis chuckles, eye crinkles emerging on his face. Only then does Harry notice the sparkly hair pins swaying out his soft fringe and keeping it to the side. One of them reads  _ SWEET  _ and the other one  _ LOUIS.  _

He’s suddenly reminded of something. “I believe these are yours,” he says, fishing randomly in his pockets and discovering two bobby pins – the ones he forgot to give Louis back yesterday night. 

The same ones he removed carefully from his coiffed hair to cradle his head and nestle it comfortably in his chest. 

Precisely what he would do, were Louis to drop on his knees, covered in one of his large shirts only, pushing his face towards his crotch, breathy pants and lips slacken covered in spit–

He cuts the thread of his dirty thought as soon as they enter the  _ not-safe-for-work  _ territory, and hands Louis his hair garments. 

“I was wondering where they went!” says Louis, accepting them, “Thank you. For both keeping my bobbies safe and for, you know… the scalp massage. You’re really good with your hands.” 

Harry tilts his head, sheepishly, displaying nonchalance. Butnside, he’s fucking short-circuiting. Biting his lips to contain his laughter, he glances at him hungrily, “You wouldn’t know, now would you?”

Louis seems to be swept off his feet as he recognizes the double semantics. “H!” 

He then blushes a lovely shade of pink, and Harry would very much like to see him like this underneath his body. Stark naked. And possibly wrecked. 

_ Oh for fuck’s sake–  _

“Look at that, let me see those rings! Didn’t take you for a ring man.” 

“Uhm, yeah, I usually don’t wear them. They can be pretty annoying, and my hands swell if I keep them on while studying.” 

Louis takes his hand in both of his smaller one, and exhales a jerky breath. _ These fucking hands,  _ he thinks breathlessly, before slipping two garish golden rings off, “ _ HS _ ? Are you for real?” he mocks, trying them on, well aware there’s no way they’re going to actually fit. 

Harry stands up tersely, holding Coco against his orange sweater, the puppy still knocked out cold, and shifts his chair so that he’s sitting right beside Louis, “You literally have embroidered _Sweet Louis_ clips in your hair, and _I’m_ the conceited one?” 

“Are they lying, though?” 

“Guess not, but I have yet to taste you to either sustain or deny this allegation.” 

Louis freezes, eyes gone wide, holding his breath. A shiver runs down his spine, and before he can properly ponder what to answer to  _ that,  _ his filterless mouth blurts the first thing that comes up his mind, clarity long gone. “I want your sweater.” 

“What?” 

Louis cringes, a tingling sensation flooding his senses, and  there truly is nowhere to hide now; his burning ears are ringing, he has more than likely reached the shade of Harry’s ruby ring, and he’s sure he’s about to pop a blood vessel. 

“I just– I mean–,” he stutters hopelessly. “I like your sweater, I want one just like that!” 

Harry laughs at that, and for a moment Louis thinks he’s got it, greatest save of the year, though Heaven forbid he actually wore that color. However, in a swift motion Harry plops a stirring Coco in his lap, and quickly gets rid of his sweater, shrugging it off and sporting a long sleeved grey fitted henley. 

He smooths the item out, and before Louis has even the chance to protest, he slips his head through the neck hole, adjusting it until deemed comfortable. “Nice and comfy?” 

Louis turns his head sideways to avoid his eyes, too flustered, fresh and citrusy scent invading his nostrils. 

He breathes in deeply and utters something unintelligible under his breath, as the corners of his mouth quirk up unwillingly. Harry gives him a lopsided grin and can’t help but coo at the astonishing sight in front of him. The smaller boy swims in his sweater, and even sat down, it reaches the middle of his thighs, curling up against the small dog in his lap. 

“You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did. This smells so good.”   
  
“And let you freeze to death? No way,” he says, brightly. “Thanks, by the way, must be my fabric conditioner!”

It’s not. Louis’ positive he would love to sniff his naked skin all the same. He clears his throat in an attempt to brush off his inappropriate thoughts. “So, Mr. Styles, tell me about yourself. Or should I say, Dr. Harry Styles, M.D.?” 

—

Harry’s mum calls a couple of days later. 

He’s set to meet Louis for launch, in this cozy place nearby campus he discovered while surfing on the net. They’ve been talking non stop since their last  _ date–  _ Louis gave it this label because  _ You paid! And we basically had brunch. Not to mention you bought Coco a puppuccino. You’re spoiling her too much already!  _

He let Louis keep his sweater throughout the whole afternoon, and he beamed when the smaller one secretly stuttered close to his ear that he liked how everyone seeing them would  _ just know  _ that the sweater was Harry’s. 

Nevertheless, he’s been barricaded in his room since then, but he is proud to say he accomplished his goal to cover sixty-five percent of the program. 

So, when he glances at the caller ID, just as he’s about to leave his room to meet up with Louis, a grimace curls over his lips. 

“Hey Ma’,” he answers swiftly. 

His relationship with his parents has always been fairly complicated. 

Of course,  _ complicated _ doesn’t inherently mean bad. Admittedly, he also knows one of the hardest tasks to achieve is to have good and consistent parenting skills. 

All his parents ever did was use their own upbringing as a blueprint for him and his sister to follow, so he can’t really blame them for developing these anxiety issues, can he? He’s an overachiever, and overachievers are their own greatest critics. 

Harry regards himself as a strong man, so as careless as his parents can be, they never did anything particularly harmful to fuel his insecurities and frustration. Or so he thinks, anyway. 

They lack empathy and usually forget that a son or a daughter is an individual who requires care and nurturing. From his childhood, he’s been reprimanded too much, scolded excessively, even when he displayed honesty and admitted to have made a mistake. The feeling of shame that always followed was hard to shake off. 

“Hello, Harry. How’s college going?” she answers, tone pleasant but still insanely condemnatory and distant. 

_ I’m great, mum, thanks! How are you doing? _

“Eh, it’s tough, but I got it covered. As always.” 

“As you should, darling. Tell me about it.” 

Harry sighs softly, “Well, I’ve covered most of the topics listed, that being alcohol and drugs reactions, angio-oedema and anaphylaxis, I’ve studied recorded charts about ulcers, cancer, dyspepsia, all kinds, and of course eczemas and psoriasis. Screening, I’ve got them all down. And I was just analyzing a Crohn’s disease article because the book isn’t quite as exhaustive.” 

His mother grunts on the other side of the line. “Don’t you think you’re going a little slow?”

“No, Ma’, I think I should be good for when the time comes.”

“ _ Good?  _ Harry, I didn’t raise you nor given you the best education a mother could ever provide for her children just for you to be  _ good. _ ” 

In moments like these, Harry wishes the floor could just swallow him whole. 

He takes a deep breath. “I’m not a fucking machine, Mum. Give me a break.” It comes out more harsh than he intended but he can’t find it in himself to regret it.   
  
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” she seethes, furiously. “What you are today, you owe it to me. What you have today, you owe it to me. You’re showing poor resilience, that’s not what I’m expecting from you.” 

“Then what do you expect from me?!” he yells through the phone, wounded. He tightens the grip on his phone and yanks his curls harshly. 

“To stop being worthless and pathetic. To appreciate all we’ve done to bring you where you are today. For once, to try making me and your father  _ proud _ .” 

Then the line goes dead. As does his brain, overshadowed by his sinking thoughts as he lets the words stab into him like knives. 

_ Worthless.  _

_ Pathetic.  _

_ Good? That’s not enough.  _

He feels his blood pressure drop, the floor sways beneath him and he makes it to the door with wobbly legs. The more steps he takes the whiter the room bathes in, the fuzzier his sight gets, and he just needs to get his shit together and meet Louis for lunch. This is pretty much his sole remaining wish, at this rate.

He fights back the tears filling his eyes, as he always does, he’s not a crybaby afterall. A worthless crybaby. Pathetic people cry, and he is  _ not _ pathetic. 

He bumps into a few people on his way out the complex, where Louis is waiting for him. They spare him worried glances, and it’s probably because he looks visibly upset and shattered, and suddenly another thought fuels his self consciousness, additioning itself to the already long list of remarks he’s managed to make in the past ten minutes. 

Louis can’t see him like this. He can’t see him this vulnerable, this raw and sorrowful. 

Before he can dwell on it any further, he steps out of the building, and Louis comes into view. He’s absolutely radiant, dressed in light yellow, and Harry feels a tear running down his cheek at the thought of throwing their date down to the toilet and fucking off in his room. All he ever wants as in right now is to cry in the arms of this little man that is waving enthusiastically at him like he’s the fucking sun or something. 

_ Louis is. Louis is sunlight.  _

He lifts a hand glumly, waving in response. “Hey.” 

“Hi, H! I have something for you.” 

Harry tilts his head distractedly, “Mhm?” 

“Here!” he says, handing him the hairpin he wore the other day at the cafe, the script  _ LOUIS _ hit brightly by the blinding sun. “Yesterday, when we were facetiming, you said you needed a new bookmark. So I thought you could use this one. You’ll have a constant reminder of me.”

“That’s– thank you, I appreciate that,” he says sincerely, internally musing about how he doesn’t need any reminders to constantly think of Louis.

Louis frowns with pursed lips. “Are you alright?”

Harry flinches away, a flush creeping across his cheeks, eyes flinty. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I don’t know, you didn’t even hug me! No forehead kisses, nothing,” he pouts, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and putting his head over where Harry’s heart is beating. 

“I’m just tired,” he grits, voice coarse, pushing Louis away.

The longer the embrace gets, the more he wants to just tell him everything, for once just let it all out, whimper and blubber like a toddler who just had his best toy taken away. 

_ That’s what his mother means by worthless. Weak. In constant need of help.  _

Louis clears his throat, shoulders slumping at the blatant rejection. “Am I detecting a little  _ attitudinal  _ problem here?” 

“What the fuck are talking about?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, you tell me!” he shouts, lips flattening in a hard line.

Harry loosens the collar of his hoodie, “You’re so fucking clingy sometimes. I’m suffocating, give me some space!” 

Alas, the odds of Louis picking up the pattern and actually recognizing that what he’s saying is a crap load of bullshit are pretty much resenting the zero. 

As a matter of fact, he is visibly fuming. “Listen to me, Harry, and listen very carefully. There’s a way to talk to a person, and that’s not it. So you better learn that, because I’m not putting up with your bullshit,  _ asshole _ .” 

Harry’s getting defensive and hysterical at Louis’ aggressive behavior. “Who fucking asked you to? If it’s bullshit to you, then maybe you should leave.” 

“You’re right, maybe I should,” he bites back maliciously. “Actually, I know I will. Good luck finding someone who can put up with your shitty mood swings and bitchy comments, Styles. Guess it’s true what they say about you.” 

“Oh, is it? And what exactly do  _ they  _ say about me?” 

“That you are an arrogant, entitled, obstinate son of a bitch. And you know what? I’m starting to believe them,” he bites, and Harry’s eyes widen in shock.

Louis looks  _ livid _ , and with an unforgivable glance, he takes one step back, then two, three, four, five, and he’s gone, turning around the corner and disappearing from his sight. And that’s when Harry loses it. 

He was bound to break, sooner or later. He was bound to shatter like a fine glass, but he didn’t expect it to happen like this. 

Once one tear breaks free, the rest follows in a never ending stream. He slides down against the wall, bending forward where he’s sitting, and pressing his palm flat on the mat. He begins to cry with the force of a pissed off drunk pupil vomiting on all fours. 

It’s pitiful to see him like this, he ponders. Screaming silently, suffocating with each breath, shaken with full-body sobs. He tried to hold back, to suppress the raging torrent of tears and sorrow that’s been building up inside of him since the moment of his dreadful call. 

He tried, but he possibly just lost the most wonderful person he’s ever met, and on top of it all, that same person now believes and supports what everybody thinks of him, because he hadn’t had the guts to prove him otherwise. 

A few feet away, Louis is nervously chewing on his lips, cursing himself for even thinking that what he and Harry were growing together could really be something other than a flat acquaintance. 

“The fucking nerve!” he whisper-shouts into the empty lot. “I swear to God, I’m a walking human torch for toxic people attracted to light.”

He bites his knuckles in rage, suddenly remembering the precious gift he lent Harry. 

“Like Hell he’s going to keep my all-time favorite pin,” he swears.

He makes a last minute turn-around and drags his trembling limbs back to where Harry last yelled.

He expects Harry to have already left, or more likely be on his way. What he doesn’t expect, however, is to find him clenching his fists on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably, each gasp tearing down his throat. 

Harry attempts to stand, not acknowledging Louis’ presence just yet, but his strength leaves him as soon as he assumes a straight posture, capitulating once again on the rough mat and surrendering to his torment. 

Louis thinks he’s never seen anything so soul shattering as this. 

He approaches him cautiously, crouching down at his level and spinning him around. “Oh my God, Harry… what happened?” 

Harry cries harder at that, his lungs rummaging for oxygen, the flesh under his rib cage throbbing harshly, and he couldn’t care less about where they both stand after their argument when he grabs a handful of Louis’ hips and sets him down into his lap, clinging at him like his life depended on it.

And it did.

Louis positions his legs on either side of him, tenderly grabbing his face in both his hands and thumbing gently at his puffed and purplish blotchy cheeks. 

“Lou, Lou, please– don’t leave me, stay with me,” he stutters with a snotty voice. “I didn’t mean to, I’ll tell you everything, everything, I s-swear– all you want. Forgive me.” 

“Of course, of course I’ll stay with you, shhh,” he declares soothingly, beginning to press featherlight kisses which he maps like a path: his temple, his cheekbone, his nose, his eyelids, the corner of his mouth, his chin, his jaw.

He goes back and forth for a while, tasting salty teardrops on his lips, but Harry doesn’t calm down. Not one bit. If possible, he gets more agitated. 

He’s clawing at his thighs, trying to close a shapeless distance between them, so Louis cups the back of his neck affectionately, and hides it in the crook of his neck, holding his head still.

The bigger man nuzzles under his chin, fat hot tears blurring his eyes, “Tell me you don’t believe them. I’m not worthless, I’m not pathetic, please don’t listen to them.” 

Louis moves his hair off the way and presses a long peck against his forehead, “Shhh, you’re not pathetic nor worthless, who said that to you? And I don’t believe any of it, I’m sorry for saying it. None of it’s true. I’m so sorry, H.” 

Harry’s heart thuds in his chest, his feet tingling. He cries harder, bile rising in his throat and suffocating him. There’s a time, when someone is feeling too overwhelmed, usually on the verge of a panic attack, during which your brain acknowledges the strain that your body is deliberately putting itself through. So he shuts down the central control point of emotion processing, the amygdala. Past this point, you can either pass out or come back down, like someone just injected you a dose of morphine. 

In between, there’s a fine line, where one can get stuck; a fine line where your mind recalls all your past failures, where you lose all kinds of self control. 

Harry feels like drowning in it right now. 

“H, love, you need to breathe,” Louis coaxes hurriedly. 

But it’s hard, nearly  _ impossible _ , as his fears and regrets descend around him. He loses perspective of everything. He forgets about hope and faith. He forgets about love and  _ Louis _ .

Louis untucks his head from where it’s resting, cradling his splotchy cheeks in his small hands, and before he could withdraw his mind from a place of helplessness, he kisses him softly. Once, twice, each getting deeper with a fervent urgency. 

Harry knots his fists in Louis’ satin top, moving it to the side and slipping his hands on the smooth skin, just above the curve of his ass. He slots his lips over Louis’, little jabs of his warm tongue prodding Louis’ closed lips but before he can take things any further, he must open his eyes and bear some witness. 

He parts from him, just to get a better look at the sweet creature in his lap: panting heavily, lips shiny with spit, and tongue lapping at them like he wanted to pick up the flavor there. He still feels some heavy teardrops staining his cheeks, and he’s not sure whether this silent cry is a completely new and mostly joyful one, or just the remnants of his panic attack. 

Either way, he forgets about it as Louis nudges his nose against his, brushing his mouth against the hollow of his temple, tracing the line of his cheekbone before returning in front of his mouth and demanding another kiss, a doll-like pucker adorning his face. And who’s Harry to deny it to him? 

He holds his smaller body against his, Louis’ back arching to meet his chest and arms wrapping tightly around his neck. Their lips fall lazily together, open-mouthed and wet. Harry plunges his tongue in Louis’ sweet mouth, swallowing his little whimper.

Louis is writhing in his lap, mewling cutely, and feeling like plain putty in his hands. Harry adjusts his head from left to right, kneading his wide hips, and lapping hotly at everything in his reach, “You taste so good, baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispers huskily against his swollen lips. 

He looks so pliant and docile, eyes open in earnest, letting out breathy whimpers and gasps: Harry detaches a hand from his hip to collect the spit smeared on Louis’ chin and presses it back against his lips.

Louis grips his wrist in one hand, puckering his lips and pressing a small kiss first on his thumb and then on the palm. 

With one last quick peck on his lips, he backs off. “Lovey, what happened?” 

Harry smiles at the term of endearment, chin trembling still. “Can I– Can we go back to my room? You deserve to know everything, but I could use a nap first. And I need to have you in my arms.” 

Louis nods briefly, standing up first and dragging Harry with him and lacing their hands together.

Five minutes and ten falls later, they’re in Harry’s room. 

“So, mister man, ready to snuggle?” 

“Yeah, baby, one more thing,” he says tiredly. 

He jogs to his wardrobe, whereas Louis is setting the bed to be a comfortable nest for them to nap in, and picks up a white college hoodie and some peach colored basketball shorts. 

“I know this sounds crazy, and I also know that I’ve been quite the piece of shit since this morning,” his voice weakens as he recalls the poor events of this afternoon. “But I would feel a lot better if you wore my clothes.” 

“Aw, is that it? And what did you do to deserve to feel better?” Louis playfully shoots back.

“God, I know, I’m sorry, I– I keep on messing things up, I know it’s lame, forget it–” 

“Hey, hey, lovey, I was just taking the piss,” coos Louis, taking the clothes from Harry’s hands. “Now get under the covers and wait for me, m’kay?” 

The taller nods, watching as Louis sways his hips out of his room and closes the door of the bathroom behind him. 

Harry shrugs off his hoodie, left in a sleeveless shirt, tattoos glimmering with sweat. He changes into a pair of worn out but comfortable, soft joggers. From the pocket of his trousers, the  _ LOUIS _ hairpin Louis gave him that morning falls out, clattering onto the floor. 

He picks it up, smiling softly, and gets in front of the small mirror perched on his desk. He gathers a chunk of hair and styles it backwards, pinning it with the bobbie. 

“You look so cute,” comes a voice from the door. 

Louis is beaming, swallowed up in his clothes, hoodie slipping on his shoulder to leave it exposed and shorts hanging low. 

He plunks down his king sized bed, curling under the covers and scenting the pillows. “Already told you that, even though you believed I was talking about your laundry softener or something, but I love your smell.” 

“Do you?” says Harry, following him. “You look astonishing in my clothes. C’mere, baby.” 

Louis scoots closer. “So, do you want to spoon?” 

“Nope, I want you on my chest.” 

“I’m going to crash you, H, don’t be ridiculous.” 

“I wasn’t suggesting it.” 

Louis shrieks as Harry lays his full length over him. He wants Louis molded to him, from mouth to feet, head to toe. 

“You belong here,” he breathes.

“Isn’t  _ that _ too soon?” Harry blushes deeply. “I’m kidding. Gimme a kiss,” Louis purrs with a sultry voice.

Harry indulges him happily, planting a wet and open mouthed kiss on Louis’ awaiting lips. The smaller one slips a hand under his shirt, uncurling his fingers as he reaches his lower belly and pressing a flat hand against his stomach.

“Are these abs?” he stutters, as he caresses them lovingly and traces the recognizable bumps, gawking at the thick ink he finds there. 

“Pretty sure they are,” hisses Harry, swallowing a sharp intake of breath. “It’s time to nap, baby.” 

Louis hums, hiding his face in his neck, and noses at his jawline. “Wait, where are your roommates?” 

“Liam’s at the gym, won’t be back for a while. Zayn’s either studying in the library or hanging out with his girlfriend, Gigi.” 

“Mmh, good.” 

“Actually, speaking of roommates, didn’t you just leave Coco all alone and unsupervised in your room?” Harry asks, arranging Louis’ shorter legs in his spread out ones. 

“What kind of mother do you think I am, huh? He’s safe and sound with Niall, now go to sleep,” huffs Louis, biting Harry’s throat mischievously. 

“Alright, alright.” 

“Also, when you wake up, I want to know everything about your tattoos. I love them.”

Harry smiles, pecking his nose. “Deal. But I want to know about yours as well.”

Louis nods happily and closes his eyes, but before he can dip any further into Morpheus’ arms, Harry kisses him on the lips one last time. 

“Of all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you,” he whispers under his breath.

His heavy eyelids drop, he’s surrounded by Louis’ sweet smell and he has him secure and protected in his arms. Just before he’s about to give in, “I’m not a thing, love, but you’re sweet either way,” he hears, a hint of amusement in that raspy, lilting voice he adores so much. 

A long peck is landed right on his parted lips and that’s the last thing he remembers before drowning in a dreamless slumber. 

—

When Louis wakes up, he becomes aware of a few things. 

First and foremost, he’s anchored solidly on Harry’s chest, lulled by his steady breaths, Harry’s arms effectively caging him. 

Likewise, both of his arms have somehow found shelter under Harry’s shirt, one perched up against his beating heart and the other gripping his hip loosely. Harry feels pleasantly warm and cozy. He closes his eyes lazily once again, taking in the position they’re in and sighing dreamily. 

He thinks of rutting up against Harry’s parted legs where he’s laying, cupping a hand down his briefs to feel his heavy cock straining the muscles of his tiny hands. It’s no secret that Harry’s hung, he’s seen him twice in grey sweats and what he saw was positively mouth-watering. 

He dreams of waking the boy up, moaning prettily in his ear and fondling his staunch body. 

He doesn’t notice how the hand that was previously settled comfortably against his chest has reached out blindly for Harry's callous one to hold on to. Louis locks their fingers together sloppily, humming to himself. 

He brings them up to the hem of his barely opened lips, and starts mouthing aimlessly at the back of Harry’s hand, his fingertips, his inner wrist, drooling over Harry’s shirt. 

He shifts around relentlessly, and lets out small whimpers. He feels his hardening length rubbing against the soft material of his cotton panties, and he’s not sure whether what he’s experiencing is a conjecture of his mind, or a real and deeply hidden desire. 

By the look of his small and slightly erect prick, he guesses the latter. 

Assuming he’s having some sort of nightmare, from the way distressed whines leave his body, Harry jolts awake, taking in the surroundings and grinning widely at their intertwined hands against Louis' open mouth. 

He kisses his forehead lovingly a couple of times, before whispering quietly in the sun bathed room, “Baby, you’re so tired, sleep.” 

Louis, being half-awake for a while now, opens his glimmery eyes. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you up, pup.” 

The smaller one squeezes his hand, scampering a little higher and latching his lips to Harry’s bottom one, suckling there. 

“You didn’t. I was already up, kinda,” he shudders. “You smell like heaven.” 

Taking a sniff where his armpits meet his rib cage, he arches his back in Harry’s hold.

“Do you think you can work up an appetite? You didn’t have lunch, and it’s my fault,” Harry says, sounds muffled by Louis’ mouth tenderly nursing from his lips.

“Sure. Do you want me to cook?” 

“No, I’ll cook for you, baby. It’s the least I can do.” 

Harry sits them down on the bed, manhandling Louis with his legs on either side of his waist; then he stands up, sinking his hands into the plump, baby soft skin of Louis’ thighs, effortlessly carrying him to the kitchen. 

“I want to tell you everything.” 

Louis sighs, tightening his arms around Harry’s neck, “You don’t have to, H, whenever you’re ready. You can always start by telling me what kind of mushrooms were you on the day you decided to get one single butterfly on your stomach.” 

“The good kind. To be honest, it kinda matches your  _ It Is What It Is,  _ so I’m liking it all the more,” he laughs silently, eyeing the script on Louis clavicles, where his own hoodie is too big to cover them. 

Giggling, Louis boops Harry’s nose. “I meant it, you know. Don’t feel pressured.” 

Harry smiles sadly, “I treated you like shit, you deserve it,” he starts, setting Louis on the counter. 

Before he can reply, he carries on. “First of all, know that there’s nothing I want more in the world than for you to hold me. You’re not clingy, you’re lovely, and the more you want to stay in my arms the more sated and tranquil I feel.” 

He takes a deep breath, looking down, unable to meet Louis’ eyes. 

“My parents– they’re really strict. Especially my mom. My dad’s too busy with work to actually care about me, so,” he clears his throat in embarrassment. “They’re both doctors, so it was only logical for me to pick up the same career, but don’t get me wrong, I love medicine, and looking back I would’ve chosen it regardless of my parent’s bias.” 

“This morning I– my mum called me. She never showed pride in any of mine or my sister’s achievements and I might sound like a spoiled baby, but sometimes you just– need it, y’know? I didn’t want to be pampered when I was a child and I definitely don’t want it now, but she feels so– distant… so disconnected.” 

Louis stares at him with a look of pure horror on his face: he knows exactly where this conversation is going, and hates every bit of it. 

Harry doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve parents who withhold affection from him, no one does. 

“I told her how the work for my next milestone was going, and she told me I was going too slow. Then she told me to stop being worthless and pathetic,” he murmurs, bashfully. “That’s why I’ve tried to push you away, when you disclosed me. I felt too exposed, too weak, and I didn’t want you to think of me the same way.”

“She said  _ what? _ ” Louis roars, “Baby, look at me, now.” 

Harry looks up, and Louis takes both his hands in his. He starts to kiss each one, before laying them flat against his own cheeks. 

“I’m not gonna lie, the way you handled the whole situation was plain awful. And  _ wrong _ . But don’t ever think that you showing me your vulnerabilities and weaknesses will ever be a sign of you being either of these things. Because you are  _ not _ . You’re  _ incredible. _ ” 

Harry is looking at him mesmerized, in awe at how sincere he sounds. 

“I don’t know what to say…” he whispers, “I just want them to love me. I want to be the golden boy they would be proud of, but I’m not.” 

“Haz, you are not hard to love,” replies Louis urgently, “And you  _ are.  _ You’re so golden, baby.” 

Cradling his head tenderly, Harry brings their mouths together swiftly and kisses him repeatedly. Louis’ head lolls helplessly, eyes clenched shut and expression dazed. 

“This means so much to me, Lou.  _ You  _ mean so much to me,” he vows on the brim of Louis’ lips. “Now I think I owe you some lunch.”

Louis hugs him tight and laughs. “Bring it on.” 

—

It’s nearly four weeks later when Louis is invited, once again, to the Styles-Payne-Malik humble residence. 

Harry is currently trying to study, surrounded by a bouchy, hyperactive and snuggly Louis. 

“H, c’mon, you said you’d do it!” Louis wails petulantly, trying to close that damn book that’s been taking all the attention away from him for too long, now. 

“Baby, I need to finish revising. Once I’m done, I’m all yours.” 

“What the fuck did you come here for?” he says, scrolling Harry off of him. “You know what, you’ve been studying for hours now, so either you come here and fulfill my needs, or you can fuck off to your own dorm.” 

Harry sighs dramatically, avoiding to point out that this is in fact  _ his  _ dorm, but he’s hiding a small smile. He sets the book aside onto the nightstand and faces him. 

“My baby, so neglected.” 

Louis squeaks happily, being hauled in the taller’s lap, his back against Harry’s chest. 

Ever since they talked about Harry’s family issues, they’ve been as close as ever. 

Harry’s presence brings Louis peace and contentment, and the feeling is definitely mutual considering all the time they’ve been spending together lately. 

Louis would describe the feeling that stirs in the pit of his stomach whenever he’s with his Harry as an exhilarating breath of fresh air. He doesn’t see the ground, but he also doesn’t want to as the ride itself feels all kinds of amazing. 

He’s been gathering up a lot of new clothes in his closet these past weeks. New clothes meaning  _ Harry’s _ clothes. 

Soft jumpers, worn t-shirts, loose underwear –Harry still doesn’t know about his preference for feminine clothing, but he adores them so he wears them on top of his frilly lingerie– and sweaty gym wear. 

When Harry asked him why on earth would he ever want sweaty gym wear, he shrugged, confessing bashfully that he can pick his pungent scent better this way. Harry kissed him hard after that. 

“Gimme three pens.” 

Harry shoots him a skeptical look, obeying when Louis slaps him gently across the head. He examines them all before arranging them in the space between Harry’s fingers. “Don’t let them slip.” 

Harry closes his fist, and Louis’ mouth waters at how veiny and strong his hand looks, cross tattoo outstretched. 

“Now,” says Louis, hitting the record play button on the phone balancing in front of them, TikTok app open. “Answer my questions.”

“Okay, baby.” 

“What sound does a dog make?” 

“Woof?” 

“What sound does a cat make?” 

“Meow?” 

Louis smirks diabolically at what’s next. “And what sound do you make during sex?” 

In a swift motion, he squeezes Harry’s hand, hard. 

Knuckles cracking, Harry releases a throaty moan, hissing in pain. Louis’ about to laugh it off and maybe tease him a little bit, but he’s sure as hell not prepared when Harry’s spare hand comes to rest around his throat, applying slight and imperceptible pressure.

Instead of ending his howl of soreness with some loud swearing, as expected, he lowers his voice, pressing his front against Louis’ back, glued perfectly together. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, voice husky and aroused. 

Louis flushes crimson, going limp, arse nestled hotly against Harry’s crotch, and babbles incoherently, phone long forgotten in between the sheets.

Harry removes the hand on Louis’ throat, not after clutching it one last time, and presses a long, slick kiss on his neck. 

“You’re an  _ animal _ , Styles,” Louis quivers, hips trembling where Harry’s latched onto them. 

He grabs greedy handfuls of skin there, lifting and rubbing them with his fingers. He pinches hard in the yielding flesh, and Louis jolts, his bum grinding against Harry’s half-hard cock almost subconsciously. 

Louis’ fingers land, warm and gentle, in his mop of curls, heat building deep inside his belly as he bites his lower lip. 

“Say it again,” Louis pleads, eyes rolling in the back of his head. 

“Make me.” 

Harry slips a hand under Louis’ cotton robe, and his body spasms and slackens, as the hollow of his navel gets probed.

“This fucking belly piercing,” grunts Harry, “Makes me crazy, I want to buy you one that spells H in diamonds, and want you to show it to everybody.” 

Louis gasps, slack jawed, giving out a wail of rising vowels, while turning around and laying flat on Harry’s now supine body. Within that short moment, bodies aligned together, Harry bucks his hips up, bouncing Louis slightly. 

The smaller boy shivers, tattooed hands reaching up to tilt Harry’s head to the side: he noses at his defined jaw, tongue out to lap hungrily at the stubble growing there. 

Louis squirms, spreading his pliant legs even more. “Say it, Haz.” 

Harry ignores him, the unequivocal lucidity of a madman being exposed to such ethereal beauty and eagerness clouding his senses. His cock drips ceaselessly in his briefs, aching for relief. 

Louis takes the matter in his hands, and straddles his knees, putting a trembling hand on his tenting fly, where he starts to palm his hard on. 

“You’re– you feel so big,” he pants, unzipping the fly. 

Before he gets to his briefs, Harry cages both his wrists in one hand. “Take off your clothes. I need to see you– need to feel my baby.” 

It sends Louis whimpering like mad. Breath hitching, he does so, slipping the vest off, and is left with nothing but a pair of baby pink lace panties. “Do you like them?” 

Harry hardens at the sight, releasing one of Louis’ trapped hands, and pressing it against his aching cock. Louis melts, submissive and lax, feeling the distinctive outline of Harry’s shaft swelling hotly under his palm. 

Harry lays still. Silent, but for his eyes. He’s taking him in, admiring him, a calculating and heated gaze scanning every hidden slope. 

“You’re a vision, baby,  _ shit,”  _ he grunts, scraping his creamy legs. “A dream come true,” he breathes, making Louis’ hand move to stroke his dick through the fabric. 

Louis mounts Harry’s hips, desperate to see Harry come from his hands only and painting his tattooed laurels white.

Beginning slow rotations, he takes his cock out of his briefs, stroking it and circling it with his hand. 

“You’re too big, H, I’ll need both hands,” huffs Louis, his own hardened prick hidden behind layers of lace and twitching slightly at the statement. He arches up and keens at that, throwing his head back in ecstasy.

Harry growls, freeing Louis’ hand and sinking his digits securely in his warm and supple bum, rocking him back and forth. 

Thumbing at the head leaking beads of precum, Louis takes Harry’s cock in both his dainty hands, finally able to cover the whole girth in width, but still struggling in length. 

He opens his mouth, rhythm hard and steady, as Harry thumbs at his bottom lip with his free hand. 

Harry slides three fingers in his wet entrance and Louis glistens with it, hollowing his cheeks and bobbing his head, fingertips enveloped to the knuckles. 

“Suck,” he commands, providing Louis a mouthful of his fingers. 

Louis’ mouth’s stretches along with them as he suckles obediently and chokes around the digits when Harry suddenly jams them further into his mouth, nail tickling the back of his throat. 

At that, Harry doesn’t stop. Instead, he makes him swallow heavily around the digits, fucking them harder and gliding over the wet expanse of his wanton mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunts, bucking up into Louis’ tight heat. The smaller eases his strokes accordingly, falling in excruciating slow designs over Harry’s purple head, before diving sideways, legs bent in a diamond shape. 

“C’mere, Haz,” he drawls, eyes unfocused and wrecked. 

Grasping blindly at his shirt, Louis claws at his back, tying his legs around his middle and hooking his ankles together. 

“No, baby,” Harry groans in his ear, detangling his legs and turning him around, prone on his stomach. 

Harry envelops him in his arms, wrapping a hand around his throat and applying thorough pressure.

He grins, arousal burning in his gut at the realization that Louis’ only dressed in spit, sweat, and precum stained panties, practically bare, while he’s still fully clothed. He could just stand up, take care of his hard on, and leave Louis here, needy and unsatisfied. 

“Baby, do you have a… penguin? On your ass?” asks Harry, thumbing at the ink on Louis’ asscheek. 

The smaller one whines needly, gyrating his hips on the bed. “Mmmh, yes– please, please keep going.”

Harry grabs Louis’ foot, pointed like a dancer’s, and kisses the sole, as he moves the lace string covering Louis’ hole to the side and slots his cock in his asscrack, slicking up his puckered and smooth opening with spit. 

The enlarged tip catches the rim as soon as the taller man begins to grid filthily against him, smearing precum, “You’re so slippery and wet. So warm and open just for me.” 

Louis moans in a high tenor, the delicious friction from Harry’s cock against his rim helping him reach his peak sooner.

His eyes fall shut. “I want your weight on top of me. Please, Haz.” 

Harry nods dazedly, tonguing messily at the underside of Louis’ jaw, before lowering himself to a plank over him gently. The smaller starts to rut mercilessly against the mattress, rolling his small cock, to cry out. Hands clutching around the sheets, Louis almost screams from pleasure, in sync with Harry’s thrusts. 

Squelches and whimpers fill their intimate nest. “You’re my baby.  _ Mine _ , you hear me?” 

“Yours,” Louis pleads, “M’all yours.” 

“Lift your leg,” he orders, helping him toss it to his chest, humping Louis’ crack even more vigorously now, balls swollen and heavy with release.

Louis comes first, completely untouched in mind blowing convulsions, his belly squeezing in seizures. His lace panties stained white, as he lets out a soundless howl.

Harry picks up a pace, still blanketing Louis’ spent body, until his thrusts are nothing but erratic and savage, heavy balls stabbing against Louis’ perineum, like pistons plunging Louis’ wet entrance. 

He pumps his fat, bloated cock in one, two, three, four times, hips stuttering forward, before spilling hot come in Louis’ wavering crease, where his dick is nestled. 

He sneaks a hand into the front of Louis’ panties, gathering droplets of his come, and smudging them where his spasming tip is still poking his hole. 

“Open up,” Harry huffs out, gathering the sticky product of their own release on two fingers. 

He feeds it to a shivering Louis, still riding out the last waves of pleasure, overwhelmed by the little overstimulation. 

Louis wraps his pink lips around the digits, suckling and nursing from them while Harry nibbles quietly on his neck. 

He absentmindedly strokes his feathery hair, repeating the process a few times, until he’s satisfied and positive that they’re both somehow cleaned. 

Feeling Harry trying to get off of him, Louis lets out a shrill cry. “Harry,  _ Harry _ , more, I want more.” 

Harry has a hard time understanding what that means. As much as his muscles crave Louis’ sweet, little and open body, there’s no way in Hell his baby could be able to go for another round this early. 

He hasn’t even taken him this time, and yet he looks so spaced out and  _ wrecked,  _ as if he’s been pounding his tight and inviting hole for hours. 

“C’mon pup, let’s get you cleaned up,” he offers, lifting himself up on his forearms and peeling his body off. 

Louis catches his arm before he gets to stand up properly, rearranging them so that Harry’s back is against the headboard and he is shrinking flat in between his spread legs. 

“What–” Harry doesn’t get the chance to inquire any further, because Louis tugs his trousers down, taking his limp dick in his hand and hitting his own cheek with it a couple of times.

He presses the still dripping wet and bulbous tip in the corner of his mouth, tracing his cupid’s bow and close to his nose.

Eventually, Louis’ lips fall open, startling Harry who’s grabbing the back of his hair harshly. 

The smaller slips his cock onto his tongue, carefully lowering himself down on it, feeling every inch of it fill, corners stretching out painfully around the thick girth. 

The fact that Harry’s not even hard, but still so unbelievably big, makes his knees buckle. 

He stops abruptly, dropping his head onto firm and burly thighs, completely spent. He stills. 

Harry focuses his attention on the plush red and glossy lips circling his sensitive member. “I see. Do you want to keep me warm, baby? Shelter me in your tight mouth?  _ Serve  _ me?” 

Louis hums highly, full of cock but not having any energy left to suck it. Exhausted and fulfilled, he lays still, no sucking, no licking, no other stimulation aside from being Harry’s stationary toy.

“Don’t move. You’re perfect,” Harry praises, caressing Louis’ head before pushing it even lower. He stops as soon as he sees baby blue eyes watering from the intense exercise. 

Louis suckles lightly from time to time, hips twitching and fingers threading Harry’s pubic hair comfortingly. 

“No, pet. You better stay still,” Harry groans, pinching his cheekbone hard. 

Louis moans, shifting his cock with one hand so that he’s poking at his inner cheek with the head, mouth hugging his shaft so tightly. 

He wants to apply a steady pressure, squeeze around him and milk his precum down his throat until he is finally pushed over the edge. 

But that’s for another time, he guesses, when Harry lolls his head to the side, cocooned comfortably in the pillows, lazy thrusts to keep himself worked up. 

“Close your eyes, baby. We’re going to nap a little, m’kay?” he whispers, tracing over Louis’ forehead. “Some rules first, pinch my thigh three times so I know you’re listening to me.” 

Louis weakly does so. 

“We’re going to stop soon. I need to take care of you, first.”

He knows better than to assume, especially if his carelessness should result in leaving Louis physically and emotionally injured. They need to talk transparently about this,  _ negotiate _ . 

Once they establish consent, they can sensibly play things out, moreso if said things require skills or have potential to trigger. 

He’s brought back when Louis pinches his thigh three times. Touching where his lips outstretch, he hums lowly, moving to his temples and forehead where he starts a profound massage.

He carefully eases his cock out of Louis’ mouth, sore jaw hardly closing according to his natural motion, long wails leaving teasing his vocal cords, mind fading into dullness. Everything feels like a foggy illusion.

“Shhh, baby, you’re fine. I’m right here.” 

Harry massages him there, adjusting him sideways on his body. 

He reaches for his dainty and delicate feet, kneading the muscles, going up to the calves. 

He presses one last peck on his trembling temple. “Sleep now, puppy.” 

—

Cream cheese bagels, bacon, eggs, and crunchy avocado tarts topped with toasted sesame seeds is the hearty breakfast Louis wakes up to. 

He opens his eyes slowly, sun bathing the room and a crisp breeze gently swaying the crumpled sheets. 

He curls around the pillow beside his head, presumably Harry’s, and inhales sharply, soft piny scent of hair conditioner and deodorant flooding his nostrils. 

Harry joins him a few minutes later, not before having set two glass cups of orange juice down on the nightstand. 

Louis shifts, subconsciously scooting backwards into Harry’s hot embrace, strong arms wrapping around his middle and pressing him against his hard chest. 

“Harry?” he mumbles, voice raspy and sore.

“Did you sleep well?” asks Harry. 

Louis doesn’t answer, instead turns around and molds their lips together passionately, holding both of his cheeks, fingers clawing at the skin to partially cover Harry’ ears. He pulls away rather too soon for Harry’s liking.

“I always do when you hold me in your arms,” he admits shyly.

Harry presses a kiss to his hair, before arranging his body so that he’s hiked up sideways on his hip, legs thrown on either side of his middle. 

“We need to talk about what happened yesterday, baby,” he whispers lovingly. “But first, help yourself.” 

Harry feeds Louis breakfast for nearly thirty minutes, even managing to shove some of the avocado tarts down his throat, after Louis’ pitiful protest because  _ ‘They piss me off, avocados. Trendiest food of all time.’  _

“So…” drawls Louis, tilting his head to the side, like a kitten would do.

Harry spares him a wide smile, before nuzzling their noses together in affection. He brings a hand inside his stained panties, feeling around.

Finding his dry hole with two fingers, he presses lightly against the tight hollow, setting off a shattering whimper from Louis. 

His index finger circles the tense skin, dipping in experimentally. “We’re not going to do anything until we’ve sorted things out, but I need to feel you. I always need to feel you.” 

Louis nods dazedly, making raw, intense and absolutely delicious noises. 

“Baby, focus.” 

“I fucking can’t,” Louis hisses.

Harry raises an eyebrow skeptically, before drawing his hand out of Louis’ knickers. “Better?” 

Shaking his head no frantically, he grips his fingers painfully and slips them back leisurely. His little prick is confined into a soft net of lace, and twitches poorly at the touch.

Louis kitten licks Harry’s ear lazily, tattooed arms resting around his neck. “What do you want to talk about?” 

“Yesterday was amazing. You were so perfect,” he starts, shuddering at the little nibbles Louis is sparkling along his ear. “But I– you remember what you did afterwards, don’t you?”

Louis recalls feeling so startled and vacant, sharp brief pain when Harry detangled their bodies to clean them up, that he  _ needed  _ to be close to him again. As close as possible. 

“Mmmh, yeah, I– did it make you uncomfortable?” 

“Baby, no, I loved every second of it. Love how you took me, right here,” he says, tracing the dip of his bottom lip with shaky fingers and sinking his digit even further inside Louis. 

“But if we want to–  _ play,  _ you know, we need to set some boundaries,” he offers, accordingly and smiles when he sees Louis cowering behind a pillow, blushing bright red. “My precious darling… let’s discuss it a little bit, alright?” 

“I– I love when you’re in control. Our size difference makes me crazy, you’re so much bigger and broader than me…” Louis quivers, giving him a small peck on the lips, running one of his hands over his toned chest, following the sternum and setting it over his abs. 

“And yesterday, I wanted you to  _ own  _ me… you’re always picking me up without pulling any effort, having me as you please,” he purrs, chastely, “It’s– a dominance thing, I think? But at the same time, it’s more than simple submission. You make me feel safe, weightless,  _ cared for _ . It’s not just a mere sexual preference. I trust you so much, Harry.”

Harry stares at him, awed. “My beautiful baby, it’s okay. You don’t have to be embarrassed, I want that. All of that.” 

“Really? I don’t– I’ve never felt anything quite like this, I’ve never– I’ve been in a shit ton of toxic relationships,” starts Louis, “I hated their manipulative streaks, loathed the sex, the fact that the only way to draw attention was to wear incredibly tight and provocative clothes.” 

Harry growls at that, taking out his fingers and vehemently spitting on them. 

He sneaks them back, wetting Louis’ clenching opening and sliding one finger in. He’s met with little resistance. 

Louis sobs dryly, stroking his V line smoothly over the shirt. 

“You’re perfect, you hear me? You won’t  _ ever  _ get to worry about that shit with me,  _ ever.  _ We’re going at your pace, not mine, not anyone else’s. You deserve to be worshipped every day of your life, whatever you choose to wear.” 

The finger is halfway in, so Harry pushes forward with more intent, already tasting Louis’ velvety walls on the tip of his forefinger. 

Discomfort draws wrinkles on Louis’ face, the lone finger already splitting him open, but he pushes back greedily, anything to get Harry buried somewhere and somehow in his body. 

“How do we feel about choking? Would you like that, pup? Spanking?” 

Louis moans a little, getting definitely hard ny now. “Yes,  _ yes _ .” 

Harry smirks, scratching his insides with bitten nails. “Choke you while I take you and make you mine. Spank you brainless to remind you who you belong to.”

“‘M’already yours, your baby. I belong to  _ you _ .” 

“That you are, my precious angel. I will make sure you are cherished every day for the rest of your life.” 

Harry flips them over, nesting in Louis’ spread legs, fucking his finger in and out. It’s a very dry friction, and shouldn't even feel that good, but Louis’ head is thrown back, exposing the thick column of his throat.

His shirt rolls upward, leaving his middle bare. His pierced belly gleams in the sunlight.

He doesn’t waste much time before crooking his finger, tugging harder, and finding nothing but heat and intense need. 

Louis’ bundle of nerves is easy to find. His body jerks, thrashing around in the sheets like he’s being tickled all over. 

Harry works his finger, going as far as to nail at the sodden rim with a second one, and the pleasure has Louis spiralling into a heady place of oblivion. 

“More, H, give it to me,” Louis pleads, a squeal escaping his lips as the taller tries to slot the second finger alongside the other. 

He succeeds after some time, fit too tight and too dry, ramming them both like a fucking pile driver. 

Louis sags slightly, bringing his hands on his already exposed nipples, rolling and kneading the turgid flesh. 

“Come for me, baby, let me see it _ , _ ” grunts Harry in his ear, and that does the trick.

Louis tenses, a small pool of cum gathered in the dip of his navel spilling its contents on the bed. 

Juices flow like an endless stream, creaming over the top of his thighs, convulsing around his clever fingers. 

Louis shivers, clutching Harry’s body to his. “ _ Harry _ .” 

Harry smiles, peppering little gentle kisses all over his relaxed face, drinking in the sight. Louis is always so sensitive and responsive, it makes his mind go wild to think both times he got him off, he always came untouched. 

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he mumbles to himself, pressing his lips laxly against Louis’ sweaty hairline and collapsing on top of him. 

“Stay with me, please,” urges Louis, breathing becoming ragged, stroking a hand down Harry’s spine and digging his nails in to pin Harry’s body against his. 

“I’m here. C’mon, pup,” he says in a hushed tone, feeling a familiar heaviness in his pants and quickly getting aware of his unsatiated boner. 

Fetching some of his clothes in one hand, he slides the other round to grip Louis’ bum, hitching him up against his hip and holding him securely with one arm. 

Harry takes care of everything: making sure the water is a pleasant temperature, stocking bottles of coconut scented body shower next to his musky ones, and stripping Louis of his clothes. 

Water rushing and almost instantly filling the small bathroom with steam, Harry steps into the small tube with Louis. 

“I’m the luckiest man alive,” he smirks, coaxing Louis out of his sleepy state. 

Setting Louis on his feet, he turns around to get the soaps, only to be stopped by a tiny hand patting his bicep. 

Louis arrives first, grabbing the small bottle of his own body wash –spending time with Harry means, first and foremost, to infiltrate his room with all of his belongings. He scrunches his nose when Harry hands him the loofa. 

He shakes his head firmly: the only thing that will ever wash Harry in his presence are his own hands. 

Foaming the soap, he glides around his body, paying extra attention to the nerve-rich crevices: the crook of his neck, his navel, V-line, and pelvis. 

It feels extremely intimate and sensual, the arising sense of trust, the comfortable silence that settles between them while Louis lathers Harry’s strained muscles. 

Harry is still hard, unsurprisingly. They’re thoroughly discovering themselves, completely bare for the first time. This, added to the sensory experience Louis’ providing him, makes it hard for his raging cock.  _ Pun definitely not intended.  _

Louis fills his hands with shampoo, rubbing his scalp while he washes his hair. Harry’s mind is in shreds. His baby boy is cleaning him so carefully, water dripping from his defined edges in steamy rivulets. 

After rinsing his soapy hair and treating them with curls conditioner, Louis’ body is molding to Harry’s in a slow hug. 

When hands try to reach down to his hard length, he stops them. 

Louis is looking at him with shiny, teary eyes. 

“Hey, hey, baby, what’s wrong?” 

In seconds, the tears burst forth like water from a dam, slipping down Louis’ face. 

Harry frames his quivering faces with both hands, feeling the muscles of his chin tremble like a toddler. 

“Baby, no, don’t cry. What happened?”

Sobs wrench themselves from his throat, and Harry gathers him tenderly in his arms.

“C’mere, cutie, what got you so worked up?” he coos, cradling his head gently. “Wanna know a secret?” 

Louis is a snotty trembling mess, but he silently agrees. 

“You’re so adorable when you cry, you make me wanna smooch the shit out of you.” 

Letting out a wet laugh, he fits under Harry’s armpit, pressing shy pecks as far as he can reach.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” says Harry, tone serious. 

“You– I–, I’m sorry” he starts, “It’s just that, I’ve never felt so safe with anyone before. It’s so new to me, and overwhelms me a little bit. I know it’s lame, I’m sorry.” 

Starting to gently rock him, Harry presses his fingers against his temples, but Louis only weeps harder, all his yearning curling itself into a tight knot in his chest. 

“Oh, sweetheart, and why would  _ that  _ be a bad thing? You shouldn’t be crying about it.”

“You’ll get tired of me,” he hints sorrowfully, blush creeping from his cheeks to his ears. “I’m already so fucking clingy and you’ll get tired of me sooner or later. And I don't want you too _. _ ” 

Harry tilts his head dumbly. “Did I or did I not already tell you how not having you in my arms makes my head go absolutely nuts? I won’t get tired of you, not now, not ever.” 

Louis stares at him, frustrated beyond measure. “Harry, please,” he deadpans. “You don’t know that, how could you possibly–” 

“Lou, I’m serious, it’s killing me to see you upset, especially when the reason is as absurd as it can get. I won’t ask you to believe my word, but I’ll need you to believe my actions,” begs Harry, spanning his cheeks with his big hands and pressing their noses together. 

Louis shivers, drying his damp eyelashes with the back of his hands and rubbing cutely. 

Harry softens, understanding. “Look at me. I need you with me. I  _ want  _ you with me, baby.” 

Louis sheepishly looks at him, “Are you sure?” 

“Positive,” says Harry, abandoning his cheeks in favor of treating his smooth and hairless belly. 

Louis seems suddenly aware of the hard length poking at his navel. 

He eagerly reaches for Harry’s cock, already bulging for him and soaked with precum. Rubbing his juices under his tip made him tremble in her hands. Adding a splash of water, he starts teasing his balls, groping his shaft and kissing his neck, right behind his ear. 

“Shit, darling, keep going,” Harry moans grittily, caging him against the dribbling tales. 

The warm water beats down on him, adding to the sensation. He reaches behind Louis with one hand, gripping his bum and locks his gaze with his. The stare is so intense it has Louis’ knees buckle in frenzy.

Then, smirking naughtily, he lifts him up, balancing his body on his forearm only and pressing his torso in between his legs. “Look at this. I can lift you up so easily.”

“God, Harry,” whimpers Louis, arching against him the moment he’s swept up his feet. The pleasure that is brewing inside Louis’ belly at the mere thought of Harry actually being able to slam him against a wall with the least of the efforts is staggering. He feels his body responding to Harry’s blatant display of strength, already blown to dust, and he leans over with gratitude, tenderness, sucking at Harry’s top lip. 

Louis can feel the head of Harry’s cock sliding between their stomachs, harder and bigger than anything he’s ever had and still moist from before. 

The shower is hitting them, gently fondling their naked forms, and Harry takes his time to start moving against him, free hand creeping up towards his face. 

He grips Louis’ cheeks, drinking in the sight of him: lewd, lascivious and lovely, providing enough friction for his aching cock to reach his peak. 

Louis moans loudly, feet dangling on either side of Harry’s thighs, and clasps his hands over Harry’s peck as he feels his own prick hardening again. 

“Come for me, Haz, I want it, c’mon,” he whispers in his ear, and Harry pistons forward, tip catching Louis’ navel piercing with every thrust. 

He is very much enjoying being this close to him, hearing him sighs, feeling him quiver, causing his legs to tremble.

Pushed against the wall, Louis blinks at him, a little lust crazed. 

Harry is bouncing him madly against the wall, and from the way they are moving, if anyone were to see them like this, they would probably assume they weren’t just grinding against each other. 

Louis comes first. A moan so long as it’s loud and high escapes his mouth, cock spurting thick jets of cum on Harry’s chest. 

The sound he makes pushes Harry over the edge as well, inebriating his senses.

Louis sags, feeling Harry’s fingertips latch painfully at the flash of his under thighs.

Marks are probably going to litter his body after this, from the way Harry is gripping him so hard to prevent any falling, but he soon comes to the realization that he adores it. 

“Fuck, this was beautiful. You are beautiful,” he whispers, lowering Louis to the ground. 

Feeling his legs tremble, too weak to hold him up, he holds him tight, taking the pink loofah hanging by the shelf, and starts cleaning Louis thoroughly, pressing his lips lovingly as far as he can go. 

Once deeming he’s been scrubbed properly, he turns the water off and steps out of the shower. 

Louis squints his eyes at Harry. He doesn’t know how, or why, but he feels like he’s on cloud nine. He finds some inner peace, looking through Harry’s emerald orbits. He feels as centred with his eyes open as he so when they are closed, such a strong sense of self. 

It's as if invisible holes are poked in his skin and all his tension leeches out.

“C’mere, sweetheart.”

Harry starts to dress him, yanking back and forth to cover him, and curses under his breath when he realizes his bed sheets are stained with all kinds of sex fluids. 

“Wait for me, okay? I’ll be right back,” he says, pressing a couple of fervent kisses on Louis’ wet hair. 

He sprints in his bedroom, tossing all the covers off the bed and grabbing a thick plaid throw stocked in his closet. 

Harry’s room is a mess. Mopped cum stained sheets on the floor, drying steam fogging the whole bathroom, and bed wet from their dripping hair. He quickly retrieves the dirty duvet and joggs in their laundry room to throw it in the bin.

He comes back some minutes later, finding Louis shielded warmly in his plaid cocoon. “Stand up for me, baby, I need to change the bed.” 

Once the job is done, Harry grabs the hair drier in the bathroom, and plugs it in the power outlets on top of his nightstand. 

He sits down against the fluffy pillows, gesturing to his spread out legs. “C’mere, baby.” 

Louis obeys, skulking in his favorite safe space, hands flying to grasp both of Harry’s feet, curling his toes in circular motions.

He settles them criss crossed in his lap, placing his palms on either side and gently pulling outward and allowing the skin to spread. 

He holds a full fist against the sole, kneading at a moderate pressure, thumbing his toe pads. 

Harry groans. “Fuck, you’re an angel, I always get this terrific cramps after showering, I don’t know why.”

“Well, you should, you’re the doctor.”

“Ah, ha. Doctors can’t diagnose themselves, it’s a matter of fact. Now, scoot over a bit. I need to dry your hair.”

Louis complies, smirking, still managing to find a way to keep giving him the well deserved foot massage. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”

Harry snorts, “You better, baby. Alexa, play  _ Better  _ by Khalid.”

After a few moments, Louis’ mind drifts off: having Harry this close, blow drying his hair, and willing to accept his most hidden and trustworthy desires, makes Louis so overwhelmed with love, affection, care. 

He’s starting to think Harry’s  _ it  _ for him, and God forbid he lets him slip away. He won’t let go of his boy,  _ ever.  _

“Close your eyes and let me take care of you, my sweet boy,” he hums in his ear from behind, untying the knots in his hair, hands starting to do his bidding and lips falling gracefully on Louis’ frail neck.

Resistance crumbling, lost in the breathless paradise that is Harry’s skillful hands, Louis lets go. 

In the background, the music is playing deadened.

_ ‘Nothing feels better than this, nothing feels better’  _

Louis can’t help but agree. 

—

“So,” squeaks Niall, holding the hand of a very embarrassed Liam under the table, “How’s Harry?” 

Louis shakes his head in resignation, already sick of this conversation, which seems to revolve exclusively around his sexual escapades.

“He’s good,” he says nonchalantly, twirling the straw in the creamy froth of his strawberry milkshake. 

“Oh, Lou, c’mon, give me something to work with! Is he good in bed?” 

Louis chokes. “Niall, for God’s sake, we’re in public! Keep your voice down.” 

Liam laughs tenderly at the banter, caught off guard by Niall’s shamelessness. 

“Besides, why do you care? Keep my boyfriend and his sex skills out of your mouth.”

Niall winks, slyly wiggling his eyebrows and a very infuriating smirk finishing the look. “Boyfriend?” 

Louis shudders, shadow etching over his features. 

They definitely have this  _ thing  _ going on, and it resembles a relationship, without any doubt. 

Everything about them scream “couple”, from having spent the past month together attached by the hip, to their newly found and discussed sex preferences. 

It’s not like he ever brought the topic up: they’re exclusive and Harry seems like he’s really into him, but if he feels so serious and committed, why isn’t he eager to snap him up? Does he even want Louis to stick around? 

The odds of Harry stalling with labels because he’s still figuring out if his future plans actually include Louis are pretty much nothing. But. 

There’s still this slight insecurity of his that infiltrates his body like a rotten and impalpable fluid: what if Harry’s keeping him around because he’s convenient at this very moment, but might not be his best option for anything further?

He wants to be claimed, so bad. He craves belonging to Harry, fully, just as much as he wants Harry belonging to him– shouldn’t be  _ that  _ mystifying. 

“Oh, I see… he hasn’t asked you yet, has he?” Niall mocks, startling Louis. 

“No, I– how– I mean, what makes you think he hasn’t?” 

“Your expression kinda gave it away. You look like a kicked puppy.” 

“Babe, what the fuck,” interjects Liam, pinching his thigh underneath the table. “What Niall meant is that you shouldn't overthink it too much. Harry’s absolutely smitten for you.” 

To be fair, Harry has been doing whatever it takes to make Louis happy, never putting his own needs above his. 

“I mean– he’s so  _ dreamy.  _ He’s everything I ever wanted as a boyfriend and to think he wouldn't want the expectations that come with the title? It’s not like him…” 

“Look, Louis, I can’t remember the last time Harry seriously dated someone,” comments Liam, cautiously. 

Louis furrows his eyebrow, heaviness reappearing in his chest. 

Niall kicks him in the shin. 

“Oh God, no, what I meant– Harry hasn’t looked this happy and ready to try and get the hot potato on the table as he is right now,” hurries Liam apologetically, recognizing his mistake. 

“Wait a little more. Maybe he has some grand gesture in store for you and–” he gets interrupted by a loud ringing phone. “Sorry, I have to take this one.” 

Louis nods silently, spacing out a little bit. He had his fair share of long term relationships the past few years, and they all, sooner or later, ended up being a disaster. 

Connection is not about investment. It’s about energy and long-ranging compatibility. So they should be okay, in terms of keeping things genuine and honest between them. 

“Okay, calm down, I’ll get him there asap. Give him something if you need to, yeah?” 

Too busy with his own mental predicaments, Louis misses how frantic and chaotic Liam’s phone call had become. 

“Is everything alright?” he asks with a hushed tone. 

“I don’t think so… it’s about Harry,” says Niall remorsefully, cringing in his seat. 

Louis’ sure he physically blanks. “What about him? Is he okay?” 

Liam holds up a finger, distraughtly grabbing their things altogether. 

“We’re on our way. Check the cabinet for his meds.” 

“Could you please tell me what the fuck is going on?” he yells, terror bleeding in his voice. 

“Harry’s asking for you,” is the only thing that escapes Liam’s mouth. 

“Then what the fuck are we doing here? C’mon.” 

The ride back to the dorm is as bitter as it can get. Pain travels through every cell of his being to reach the ground, fatigue engraved on his scrunched face. 

“Liam, please, tell me what’s going on,” he pleads gauntly.

“Lou, it’s– complicated,” he starts, “He has these– panic attacks? I don’t even know what to call them. He gets irrationally angry, sometimes violent, and he just– he trashes everything. Last time he completely destroyed the living room.” 

Louis winces slightly. “When was it last time?” 

“A couple of years ago. His parents just came to visit.” 

After that, the conversation dies down.

Louis’ bottom lips quivers as he wills himself not to cry. Harry needs him, he ought to be the strong one right now. 

Knowing how bad of an influence Harry’s parents are to him is poison to Louis’ soul. The thought alone dulls him, black mist settling upon him. 

It’s a few moments later when he remembers something fundamental. “Wait, you said something about giving him– like, meds?” 

“Uhm– yes, they’re like, calming meds…” 

Louis freezes, anger building up like his body just summoned and unleashed a demon. “Calming meds? Do you think I’m fucking stupid?” he argues, outraged. “Give me Zayn’s number.” 

“Louis, calm down, we’ve dealt with this shit countless times.” 

“Oh I bet you did, giving him what? Sedative drugs? Tranquilizers? A cocktail of sleeping pills?” he accuses, lips curling into a snarl, shallow breaths leaving his body. 

“Louis, calm down, you’re being unreasonable. They’ve been friends since God knows when, they know what’s best for him,” Niall interrupts from the backseat. 

Louis seethes, grabbing Liam’s phone from the console wedge holder. 

“Tell me your passcode, or so help me God,” he threatens. 

It’s a weak shot, all things considered. He couldn’t hurt a fly, not with his body and neither with his mindset, but Liam chooses to either ignore it or play along for the sake of his own safety. 

“It’s 290893.” 

Louis quickly enters the code and dials Zayn’s number from the contacts list. 

“Liam, thank God, it’s getting bad, man,” Zayn picks up, muffled shattering sounds in the background. 

“And you’re not making it any worse with fucking pills or whatever the hell you have in mind,” he snaps, swallowing any retorts about how disgustingly wrong is for them to handle this situation with freaking drugs in the first place. “Put him on the phone.” 

“I don’t think it’s–”

“Zayn, I’m not gonna repeat myself, put him on the phone.” 

He hears indistinct shuffling, some curses and lamentations fading in the background before breathy gasps reverberated through the speaker. 

“Harry? Baby, are you on the line?” 

The thought of Harry scared, alone and devastated for whatever reason was burning holes through his meninges. 

Alas, still no response. 

“It’s me, H, your LouLou, your baby,” he murmurs brokenly, heart feeling butchered. “Talk to me, tell me what’s wrong. We’re almost there, just a few minutes more and I’ll have you with me, okay? Never gonna leave.” 

“No,” Harry says eerily, voice grainy and horned anger seeping through his words. “You can’t. I’ll hurt you, please, Louis, stay away from me.” 

“How could you ever think I would just leave you like that and fuck off?” says Louis, scorching disbelief rising high in his stomach. “Now lock yourself in your bedroom and for the love of God, don’t you dare take anything Zayn gives you.” 

He hangs up. 

The wave of helplessness and anxiety that hits him catches him unaware. It must have been silently building up and gaining momentum, while he was too busy making sure Harry caught everything he said clearly. 

Once they reach the building, he hops off the car, sprints up the stairs and reaches Harry’s dorm door, stirring agitation making him feverish. 

Knocking firmly, he waits. 

Zayn opens the door, and the sight he is met with is far more heart sickening than what he expected. 

Harry is seated on the sofa, staring blankly at the shattered remnants of glass spread solemnly over the floor. Other than that, everything seems to be in place. 

He doesn’t see Louis at first, doesn’t really need to. 

He’s sitting there, recalling being blinded by a bitter five-courses serving of rage not even ten minutes prior, snapping like a twig in raging hatred.

His face becomes rigid, jaw clamped tight, teeth grinding. Then he shifts his look, landing his glacial eyes on Louis. 

“Harry…” 

He clenches his fists too tight, knuckles white, hunched form hiding a slicing animosity– not against Louis, never against him, but against himself, against his bad deeds.

“Harry, c’mere, please…” 

The wrath is consuming his body, fury sweeping off of him like ferocious waves.

“Harry!” 

He snaps out from his trance. Louis looks petrified, absolutely worn out. 

Harry sourly stands up, clad in socks only, approaching Louis cautiously. 

“Lou,” he murmurs with furrowed brows, hands reaching out to engulf Louis’ cheeks. 

Louis’ eyes threaten to spill, little droplets already managing to cleanse his face. Thinking about how this pure soul will always be seared with scars drives a stake right through his heart.

He bumps their nose together and gets rid of his shoes. “I’m here now, nothing’s gonna hurt you.” 

Lacing his arms around his neck, and clinging to him, he stands on both Harry’s feet, pointing his toes and licks the seam of his lips. Harry doesn’t wait any longer to snog the shit out of him. 

Harry throws his arms around his waist, hugging him tightly and pulling him up slightly. 

“Haz, Haz,” tries Louis, in between feverish kisses. “Haz, wait–” 

Harry doesn’t stop. Demandingly, he bites his bottom lip, forcing his way inside his mouth, teeth clattering in the process. 

His meaty paws grab Louis in a way that would have his knees buckling in earnest if it were a normal situation.

But this isn’t a normal situation. 

He forces Harry to part from him, bated breaths echoing in the room. 

Harry falters. An expression of pained disgust paints over his face. “God, Louis… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I–” 

“Shhhh,” Louis hushes him, gently pecking him all over the face: he starts with his throbbing temples, lingering on his leaden eyelids, stopping only when he recognizes the familiar pattern of his stubbly jaw. 

The nerve wracking streak that hits Harry is, well… cathartic. 

It starts small, a little rush of emotions making silent sobs escape the corner of his eyes, scorching pain flooding out of his every pore. 

It ends up being a disaster: Harry’s face crumples, a cry so raw comes from his mouth that even Louis’ eyes are suddenly wet with tears. 

His cries are hysterical, breaking his stance with the violence of a gale. 

“My love… let it out, it’s gonna be okay,” whispers Louis in his ear, trying his best to sustain his weight. 

Louis couldn’t bear listening to these wracking sobs anymore, but Harry needs him right now, and that’s all it matters. 

Thicker droplets are wetting Louis’ head, where Harry is nestling his hair and pressing mouth open kisses. 

He doesn’t know for how long they stay like this: could be minutes, half an hour, or even longer. What he knows is that eventually it stops, and Harry looks down to meet his own shiny eyes. 

Nose running and snot practically everywhere, Harry drops his gaze down, awkward. “I’m– sorry. Forgive me, I– I’ve never had it this bad.” 

Louis shakes his head, caressing his damp lips. “Stop apologizing for nothing. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re coming over to mine, you’ll explain what happened and I’ll take good care of you, yeah?” he says, barely audible. 

Agreeing silently, the taller man lands a trembling kiss on Louis’ forehead, before slowly disappearing in his room to put something on. 

“Louis, are you sure? You might get hurt,” Zayn says cautiously.

Louis blanches, fiery befuddlement making his cheeks flush. “The audacity you have to think of  _ your  _ friend not only putting me in danger, but causing me any harm, leaves me properly disappointed. And disgusted, too.” 

“You don’t know what he’s capable of,” Zayn argues, lips curling in a sullen pout.

“Oh, but you do, don’t you?” mocks Louis, gnarly. “Let’s see, what is big bad Harry capable of?” 

Zayn opens his mouth, but before he can offer Louis any more bullshit, Harry makes his appearance in the middle of their banter, face pale like a moonbeam, but still extraordinarily beautiful, sheer pain still recognizable on his face. 

He takes Harry's hand, hugging him sideways, Harry’s strong arm draped firmly around his shoulders. “Let’s go, H.” 

“I’m coming with you,” he hears Niall saying. 

“I’d rather you don’t. You wouldn't be needed anyways.” 

With Louis’ last words being said, they take off, headed for Louis’ dorm. 

Harry can’t help but feel his panic beging like a cluster of sparks in his abdomen. 

“My parents called. They said they want to visit,” he speaks, breath becoming more rapid and shallow. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah. I told them to come after my USMLE. Told ‘em they could meet you, then.” 

Louis shivers at his mention. 

“They asked who you were. I told them about us– not the supporting and thrilling blessing I was hoping to have.” 

Harry’s heart is hammering inside his chest like it belongs to a rabbit running from its skin. 

“They– they started yelling at me. Which. I mean, I’m used to, it hurts, but I’m used to it,” he tells him, ribs heaving as if bound by ropes, piercing his chest. 

“But then they started saying shit about you… calling you names, and I just– snapped. Like I’ve never done before. Thing is, I don’t care, so long as it’s everything else, but you… they had no fucking right.” 

Louis embraces him even harder than before, apprehensively. This man is all he wants, flaws and all. 

“And I’m so sorry, I swear I told them off, they’re not even coming. I don’t want them with me, with us. Please don’t leave me, I don’t want them to push you away too. You belong with me.”

Louis coos, tightening his grip on Harry’s hand. “I’m not gonna leave you, H. Never. Look at me, I’m glad you fought for my honour, but I really don’t care about your parents. As long as they don’t take you away from me,” says Louis, apprehensively, “Wouldn’t be the first time someone misjudged me, anyways, nor will it be the last.”

“Not on my fucking watch.”

Louis sighs, smiling sweetly at Harry’s overprotection. “Oh, we’re here. You’re in for a long session of cuddles, Mister,” he giggles, strolling up the main entrance.

His room is sacred, and Harry yet was to receive an official invitation to his humble abode. 

He calls out for Coco, who peeps from the doorway, wagging her tail as she greets Harry happily. 

“Hey, girl,” he says, picking up the jiggling puppy and pressing a light kiss on his soft head. “I missed you.” 

Louis lays his hand gently on Harry’s shoulder, soothing it. Then he arranges a little nest for Coco on the sofa, and gestures towards it. “Put her here, I want the bedroom for ourselves.” 

Harry indulges him, setting the sleepy dog on his cocoon of pink furry blankets and toys. 

To say Louis’ room is exactly how he expected it to be is an understatement: pastel pink painted walls, pulsing in the light, and sprinkled with various framed fashion works. 

There are drapery ruffled curtains at the dormer window, frilly and royal looking, braided with fairy lights.

Cluttered in black dressed mannequins, the room is warm and smells really good, a mix of Louis’ sweet and mouth watering scent and the one belonging to the flowers scattered on every flat surface.

Louis seats down on the large bed, reverently rubbing his fingers along the silken sheets. “C’mere, big boy,” he purrs, mellowly. 

Harry’s mouth waters. Louis looks like a capital sin, batting his curled eyelashes and rubbing his exquisite legs together. 

He hints Louis up the bed, against the velvety headboard, and lays full length over him. 

Louis loves his weight on him, loves being crushed under his broad body. He exposes the underside of his neck, electrifying buzz making him shiver and arch up to glue their chests together perfectly. 

Harry exhales deeply, sinking his teeth in his fleshiest parts, body thrumming with the need of scooping Louis in his arms and wreck him, only to pull him back together afterwards. 

“ _ Harry, _ ” breathes Louis, face wanton and open. 

“My baby, my magnificent doll,” he moans, spreading Louis’ legs open until he can see the skin of his inner thighs stretching dangerously.

Louis looks superb, all spread open, tan skin merging with a pink hue given by the silk surrounding his elegant form. 

“I want you to eat me, ruin me,  _ devour me _ ,” he cries, heavy-eyed and flushed, spread so wide that his inner thighs burn with it. 

They’re still full on clothing, but in a swift motion, Louis’ bare, and Harry’s left in briefs. 

He takes Louis’ pale yellow panties, fisting them in his hands and holding them up to his nose. He inhales sharply, nuzzling the texture, eyes rolling in the back of his skull, like he can’t get enough.

Louis makes grabby hands at him, yelping when Harry dives on his mouth and bites him roughly. 

“My pretty doll,” Harry smirks, trailing kisses along the journey down to the tender flesh of Louis’ belly. 

He nibbles the skin there, fucking his tongue in and out Louis’ navel and playing with the stone there, tongue eager to prove itself more ardent. 

His small cock is slapping lamely against his stomach each time he trashes around, waves of pleasure from Harry’s wide and sensual mouth making his body contort. 

“Please, please,” he begs, flopping his legs further apart to present his clenching hole. 

“Do you want my tongue on you?  _ In _ you?” muses Harry, getting closer to the bundle of nerves. 

Louis nods eagerly. “Yes, yes, I want it– need it, please.” 

Feeling nails digging into his shoulder, Harry hoops one leg around his head, and leaves the other bent, foot sole planted on the bed. 

A slippery tongue kitten licks Louis’ glossy hole, and he screams, arching his back dramatically into the air. 

His eyes flutter close as teeths pull and graze gently at his rim, circling it in a predatory manner. 

“This fucking hole,” Harry says, relishing in the way Louis scrambles upon the bed to get his mouth closer to him, grinding filthy against his mouth. 

He leans down, pointing his tongue and penetrating the puckered and tight entrance, that clenches around him in response and sucks him in, like a vice trying to cage him. 

He licks broad hard strokes, stubble scratching Louis’ soft baby skin, grainy tongue sweeping repeatedly between his perineum and his fluttering hole. 

Louis is moaning so loud anyone in his dorm could be hearing him right now, every atom of his being screaming in unison. 

Harry takes advantage of that. 

“Say my name. Scream it, baby.” 

Louis pants, whining high in his throat. “Harry… Harry,  _ Harry _ !” 

Harry smirks, his persistent tongue lapping away like a cat at a bowl of milk. 

The enthralling sounds escaping Louis’ mouth, striking and high-pitched, stirr Harry’s cock. Eating Louis out might potentially make him come in his pants. 

Transitioning in wetter and more thorough stripes, he buries his tongue in the heat of Louis’ walls, nose pressing against his sensitive perineum. 

He fucks in, hard and violent, Louis’ fingers tangling in his curls. 

“Haz– please,  _ oh– ah _ ,  _ please _ ,” hiccups Louis, “Give me– your briefs.” 

Harry doesn’t stop, jamming his pink muscles in but swiftly removing both his pants and his underwear. He hands the latter to Louis, mouth dropping from its shelter to see what is his little minx up to. 

A shockwave of delirious ecstasy rushes through the smaller one’s body, a burning sensation of orgasmatic pleasure leaving his limbs wobbly and shuddering. 

He noses the briefs like a madman, nibbling and sniffing the tart sex aroma that impregnates the fabric.

“Turn around for me,” murmurs the taller firmly.

Louis obliges subconsciously, laying flat on his stomach and presenting his perfectly rounded ass, shaped like an apricot, at Harry’s mercy. His cock pulses at Louis’ form, face down and ass up. 

Burying his face in Harry’s briefs, he wiggles his bum, humping the sheets and wetting them with precum. 

Harry starts to feel him up, biting at his buttocks, drooling on his penguin tattoo. He raises his hand, sending it down with part pressure experimentally. 

Louis wiggles under him, perching his arse up high in Harry’s face. “More.” 

“Such a greedy baby.” 

Harry spanks him again, with both hands this time, hard and relentless. He drinks in the sight of Louis’ abused bum bright red, fingerprints bruising the delicate skin, while his fingers glance teasingly over his inner walls. 

He brings his hands down repeatedly, asscheeks stinging and throbbing by the end of it. 

Diving back in the awaiting orifice with an eager tongue, he stays put, feeling Louis start to pivot his hips, riding back messily on his face. 

Harry opens his mouth wide, flattening his tongue for Louis to keep chasing his pleasure, to keep using him to cream himself.

The smaller reaches behind his back to lock his fingers blindly through Harry’s strands of hair, stashing his wet face firmly into his hot crease and keeping him there, unmoving, as he rolls his hips back and forth, pushing forward with intent.

Slurping noises fill the room, Harry’s nose nudging his rim in the motion, shoving his tongue in like Louis’ juices would quench his thirst. 

“Oh Harry, yes, you’re so good, I’m so close–” 

Tremor after tremor courses Louis’ body, making him spill in between the sheets. 

He lays there, spent and drenched but Harry doesn’t stop, indulging his orgasm and making him tremble like a leaf on his last waves of pleasure. 

“Come here,” he whimpers, pushing back lazily against the taller slick mouth. 

Harry parts from his ass, pressing one last kiss on each cheek, and scrambles up the bed, holding his Louis tight. “Already finished, cutie.” 

Louis widens his hazy eyes, reaching down to pat Harry’s limp cock. “Even soft, you’re still the biggest dick I’ve ever had,” he mewls contentedly, stroking the hot crown. 

“I’ll be the  _ only _ dick you’ll ever have from now on. You’re fucking mine,” growls Harry, sucking hickeys in Louis’ neck. 

Louis lifts his head, kissing him sloppily. 

Harry plows his tongue into his lax mouth, bowing Louis to submission. “Mmm… this mouth,” he murmurs, creating a shiver of pleasure.

They make out for quite a long time, Louis gasping for air each time Harry sucks on his tongue, swirling his own seductively. 

He collects his cold cum on two fingers, smearing it over Louis’ agape lips, before feeding his load to him.

As Louis suckles his fingers, Harry rearranges them, lifting both Louis’ legs and hooking them around his waist. “What do you want to do, baby?” 

Needy little thing, Louis makes Harry scoop more of his cum on his finger and swallows them to the knuckles, biting cheekily at the fleshy finger-pads. 

Once sated, he tilts Harry’s head towards the nape of his neck, cradling his face there safely. “Stay here, with you. And never let you go.” 

Harry smiles softly, filled with adoration and  _ love.  _ He shivers at the realization, but unlike what the old Harry’s reaction would have been, he wants to scream it at the top of his lungs, with his whole chest, joyful and proud. 

But that must wait. At least until he can show Louis what he has in store for him. 

“My little petal. How about you go cuddle with our  _ daughter _ on the sofa while I change the sheets, and then we’ll order something from your favorite place across campus?” he asks, nibbling at his earlobe. 

“‘M’kay,” agrees Louis, preening internally at the mention of Coco as  _ their daughter.  _

He slips Harry’s shirt off his body and wears it on his own. “But you have to carry me, and be done as quickly as possible. Coco and I need you to cuddle us in your strong arms.” 

Harry smirks and soon he finds Louis’ panties hidden in the sheets, prompting Louis to wear them. 

Louis throws Harry’s joggers at him, wearing his briefs over the soft lingerie, bathing in his piney and musky scent. 

“You’ll never have to worry about walking with me,” he says, scooping Louis up in his arms. “I’d carry you anywhere, anytime.” 

The smaller one sighs happily, gawking at his sweaty and bulging arm muscles and feeling them with his hands. 

The living room is dimly lit, flamboyant buttercup yellow flooding in from the curtains. 

Harry sets Louis gently on the sofa, next to the sleepy dog, pressing a quick peck to both Louis’ and Coco’s forehead. “My cuties.”

Coco stirs awake, scrolling off the stack of blankets, and hopps in Louis’ lap, nosing along Harry’s shirt, but as soon as she sees the owner of the very shirt walking away from them, a stream of shrill wails leave her snout. 

“See? She doesn't want you to go, she wants you here, with us. So sit your ass back down,” pouts Louis, petting the dog to soothe her down. 

“Baby, I just need to get fresh sheets on your bed,” he apologizes, but gives in almost immediately when Coco starts howling. “I guess five more minutes won’t hurt.” 

He takes his seat next to Louis, taking his legs and setting them in his lap. 

“Lou,” he says warningly, as he feels a small hand sneaking on the front of his sweats and cupping his soft member.

“What? I just want to hold you. You can’t expect me to keep my hands to myself with a dick like that, in grey sweatpants all the more.” 

“Okay baby, but no funny business,” he laughs, kissing his cheek. “So, what do you want to eat?” 

—

  
  


“So, Niall called. He wants to meet for dinner tomorrow. Said Liam and Zayn are going to be there too.” 

Harry blinks rapidly and presses his forehead onto the card staring silently at him. “Yeah?” 

“Yep. I think they want to apologize, for– you know, manipulating you into thinking sedatives were the only way out of your anger commotions,” offers Louis, standing up from his bed.

He appears behind Harry, seated in front of his desk. 

Sensing his presence, Harry leans back, pillowed by Louis’ soft belly, and glaces at the ceiling with bleary eyes. 

“Should we go? I kinda want to know what they have to say,” he hums, nudging Louis’ stomach with his nose and rubbing the texture like a kitten. “So soft and pillow-y, baby.” 

The smaller one smiles, braiding Harry’s hair with both his hands in a relaxing manner. “It’s okay, whatever you choose. Either way, I’m not letting them off the hook easily. But I want you to  _ know  _ that all the things that hurt you, had nothing to do with  _ you _ at all. It’s not your fault, H. People do things because their emotions are driving them that way.”

Harry nods solemnly. Catching Louis’ tiny hands, he kisses them multiple times, making him giggle. 

“Come to bed with me, I’ll help you revise,” pleads Louis, diving his face in Harry’s fresh smelling hair. 

He stands up from the chair, picking Louis up bridal style, along with his study cards, he heads to the bed, dropping him on it and sitting in between his legs.

“H, you’re too big for this to work!” Louis whines petulantly. 

Cuddling close with his back against Louis’ fragile chest, he hushes him smugly. “Shhhh, I’m not. Besides, don’t you love when I trap you under my body, pin your hands against the mattress–”

“Shut the hell up, you giant oaf,” blushes Louis indignantly, snatching Harry’s cards. 

“I have no idea how to pronounce these but here we go. Actually, remind me once again how it works.” 

“CK is the second step of my medical licensing examinations. It’s a one-day exam, divided into eight 60-minute blocks and administered in one 9-hour testing session, 40 questions max per block.”

Louis widens his eyes comically. “So let me get this straight, this  _ slaughter  _ should assess the ability to apply your medical knowledge for the provision of patient care?” 

“Yes, baby,” Harry laughs, “Now, c’mon, ask me something.” 

Louis starts kneading gently his shoulders, firm circular strokes navigating up to the base of his neck. 

“A 35-year-old woman comes to the physician because of two 12-hour episodes of dizziness over the past 3 months. During episodes, she experiences the acute onset of rotatory vertigo and imbalance, decreased hearing, tinnitus, a sense of fullness of the right ear, and vomiting. Examination shows a mild hearing loss of the right ear. Which of the following is the most likely diagnosis?   
(A) Acoustic neuroma   
(B) Benign positional vertigo   
(C) Brainstem transient ischemic attacks   
(D) Meniere's disease   
(E) Viral labyrinthitis”

“Definitely Meniere’s disease,” says Harry, furrowing his eyebrows in concentration. 

“Yay! My clever doc. Another one,” cheers Louis, kissing his temple. “A 55-year-old man has had crushing substernal chest pain on exertion over the past 6 weeks. He had a myocardial infarction 2 months ago. He takes nitroglycerin as needed and one aspirin daily. He has smoked two packs of cigarettes daily for 30 years. Examination shows normal heart sounds and no carotid or femoral bruits. Treatment with a β-adrenergic blocking agent is most likely to improve his symptoms due to which of the following mechanisms?

(A) Decreasing myocardial contractility   
(B) Dilating the coronary arteries   
(C) Peripheral vasodilation   
(D) Preventing fibrin and platelet plugs”

“Jesus Christ… is it A?” 

“Yes, it is! This is honestly starting to sound really hot.” 

They keep it going for a while. 

And the way they fall together is magic, really. It’s as if the universe begins and ends with them, cheek hurting from laughter and tangled together in a cosy dorm room. 

It’s as if time collapses into one tiny speck, leaving the two of them to wander the world together, devoted to each other only, playful, trusting. 

The way they fit, like a great force pulled them together when needed. Louis, so deserving of love, the pure, unselfish and undemanding kind. 

And Harry. For years he had longed for it, to fill the empty void in his heart, always considering himself unworthy of it, too miserable. Now he couldn’t bear losing something that makes him feel this complete. 

Truth is, everyone is meant to find their soulmate sooner or later.

“I literally can’t, Haz. This is actual gibberish! Trimethoprim– Trimethoprimsulf– fuck’s sake, seriously?” 

“Trimethoprim-sulfamethoxazole, baby.” 

“Don’t give me that smug grin, assface, you might be the next Doctor House, but until you can recognize satin from silk, you deserve no rights.”

“Yeah, yeah, about that, I’m tired, so come give your hot Doctor House a reward kiss.” 

And they did. They found each other. 

—

The tiny cafeteria huddles quiet among the huge campus buildings, washed out under the overcast sky. 

Harry and Louis both glance up as the main door sways open, heralding the silhouettes of Niall, Liam and Zayn. 

“Look what the cat dragged in,” scoffs Louis dismissively. 

Harry chuckles, booping Louis’ nose affectionately. “Baby, be good.”

The three of them wave awkwardly while approaching the table, dropping their gaze down in shame. 

“Hey guys, how’ve you been?” starts Zayn.

Louis laces their fingers tightly in a protective demeanor, wincing at Zayn’s tentative tone. 

“Uhm, good, thanks. How about you?” speaks Harry, smiling encouragely.

“Fine, yeah, uhm. I think you both know why we are here.”

“Yes, we do, so it’d be gladly appreciated if you could just cut the bullshit,” cuts in Louis, a fake smile plastered on his face. 

Liam nods. “You have every right to be mad. But let us apologize first.” 

By the end of Zayn and Liam’s well drawn-out apology, Louis is still eyeing them suspiciously. 

Moral of the story, the first time it happened both of them were so scared of what could have happened to both themselves and Harry, that dosing fucking horse tranquilizers to knock him off for a couple of hours seemed the wisest panic induced choice to make at the time. 

Since then, it only came natural. First time’s the charm it seems. 

“He was always too out of it to actually recognize what we were giving him. Besides, he takes migraine tablets, those are strong as hell too,” interjects Zayn, at the end of Liam’s speech.

“Assuming Zomig has the same posology of a sleeping tab, which it doesn’t, it was still so wrong of you guys,” says Louis. 

“Absolutely, and we are here to apologize,” offers Liam sincerely. 

“Apologizing is not always enough, Liam, do you realize–” 

“I think I will need some more time,” speaks Harry, after a couple of minutes. “I know better than anyone how fear makes you act out, and I know you didn't do it on purpose. But you two are not only my closest friends, but doctors above all. Therefore being perfectly aware of the side effects that shit has, even if it’s low dosage. My  _ boyfriend _ , of all people, shouldn’t be the one to tell you that.” 

They both wince, feeling the full burden of guilt that comes easily under the relentless lashing of these scornful reproaches.

Niall, on his part, stays silent for the whole exchange, watching closely for a spot to fill. 

Louis spins his head around unimpressed, setting his attention on the blonde’s shaking form. “Do you need something or are you here to play footsie under the table with your boyfriend?”

Niall winces. “No, I’m here to apologize, too. I know it’s not welcomed, and I realize how unfair and ignorant I was to both you and Harry, taking Liam’s side and not doing anything.”

Louis nods solemnly. He can tell the three of them actually mean what they said, but it’s too early, too soon to give in. 

Harry looks just as weary as it gets. “Well, apologies accepted. It will take some time, but I’m glad we’ve sorted it out.”

Louis stands up first, sweaty hand clad in Harry’s callous one and coats him comfortingly out of the cafeteria. 

Once outside, it hits him like a bucket of icy cold water. 

Harry called him his  _ boyfriend.  _

Frustration builds up, fear grabbing his tongue and drying his mouth, as soon as he recalls the exact moment it happened. He thinks he might explode. Should he confront Harry about it? What does that mean? What does that make them? Where does Harry stand right now? 

He needs to vent, to let it out, but he’s afraid of what might be waiting for him on the other side. 

If Harry looked closer right now, he would have seen the perfect mask of pretense crumbling down, replaced instead by raw emotions taking over. 

“Haz, uhm– did you? Did you mean that? When you said I was your– your boyfriend?” he breathes out, barely audible. 

Harry whips around like someone has slapped him in the back of the head. “I said what?” 

Baby blue eyes stare at him, getting wetter by the second. “Y–You said I was your boyfriend back there, and we– we’ve never talked about it so– unless it was accidental of course…” 

“Don’t you want that?” 

The smaller casts his eyes upward, in a weak attempt to prevent the tears from falling. “Harry, don’t answer my question with another one. Did you mean it? Did you want that to happen right now?” 

Harry looks at him, smiling brightly like Louis’ the sun impersonated. “Not right now, baby, no.” 

The desolation Louis feels is all consuming. His mind becomes an icy wasteland, hurricane howling in his soul and wrapping vicious tentacles around his heart, so tight he feels like it almost stopped beating. 

He gasps for air, as ugly sobs escape his mouth without his consent. Each wave of agony brings new fresh droplets to his blotched cheeks.

“Oh no, baby, why are you crying?” inquires Harry, taking a tentative step in his direction.

“Why are you crying?” he yells, shoulder shaking uncontrollably. “Why are you crying? Do you need to extend the sex trial for another year or so to finally decide whether you want to make things official or throw it all down the drain?!” 

Fire of shame burns under Harry’s skin as he realizes what is happening. “Doll, you’ve got it all wrong, I meant I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.” 

“Oh, do tell! What the hell were you waiting for, huh? Did you mean for it to happen when you’ve made sure my ass is good enough of a fuck?” 

Louis cries like there is too much of a bitter pain inside of him to be contained. He is beyond all reasons, hears Harry but can’t see him beyond the watery veil on his eyes. 

“I would never do that to you. You are not thinking lucidly right now, and you’ve really got it all wrong. So I’m going to show you what I mean,” says Harry lowly. 

Then he closes the distance between them, wrapping his hands around Louis’ thighs and hoisting him up on the spot. 

On the outside, it must look like a pretty dramatic scene, but Harry can bring himself to care about it. The only thing that’s essential right now is to make up for this ugly and unnecessary misunderstanding. 

After a few seconds of weak and pretty much useless fight, Louis collapses on Harry, holding onto his shoulder and cowering in the nape of his neck. 

“Shhh, my precious baby, don’t cry, you’ve got it all wrong, I promise, let me show you,” he emphasizes, rocking him in his arms while taking off for his dorm. 

Louis can’t stop crying. Bathing in Harry’s scent where his face is nuzzled is not helping, not one bit. 

Understandably, he feels so confused and lost. He can’t see through Harry. When he looks back to all the things they shared, all the moments they had and all the feelings they brewed together, it forms a shapeless stain that he can’t fully comprehend right now. 

_ Got it all wrong.  _ What does that even mean? What could it possibly mean? And if it really isn’t what it seems, in the attempt of keeping alive the only remaining shred of hope he has, why didn’t Harry just clear everything up? Why is he dismissing it so bluntly?

He clutches Harry tight to his chest. He doesn’t want to let go. 

Either way, he doesn’t have time to dwell on things any further because as he lifts his head from his safe hut, he takes in the sight of Harry’s room furniture, plain and stale. 

“Are you with me, doll?” asks Harry carefully, letting him down. 

He forces himself to take in Louis’ state and curses himself. 

His boy looks proper wrecked, puffy eyes still leaking fresh watery beads and ragged breath making him appear smaller than he already is. 

He should’ve just told Louis everything, but he’s been saving up for this moment for a week now. 

“Come to me, sweet,” he says smoothly, grabbing Louis’ hand. 

Hugging his middle protectively with his free arm, Louis is drawn once again against Harry’s chest and walked into his room. 

It looks different: it seems that Harry purchased some dark grey satin sheets for the occasion, and scattered scented candles all over the place. 

“What is this, Harry? Please, I’m so tired,” murmurs Louis brokenly. 

“I know my love, and I’m so sorry, I’m a selfish bastard, but I hope this will be worth it.” 

Louis ducks his head shyly as he watches Harry disappearing in his closet, only to come back with a few frilly pink boxes in his hands. 

He tosses them on the bed and stands in front of Louis, cradling his face gently and kissing him deeply. 

“Okay, uhm– before I show you anything, I want to get one thing straight. There’s nothing in the world I want more than to call you mine,” he begins. 

He hands Louis the first box. “I’ve been planning this for a month. First I wanted to ask you over dinner. But it would’ve been way too formal and clichè. So I gathered up some  _ ideas. _ ” 

Louis sniffles miserably, twisting the lid open. Inside lies a ring. Harry’s ruby ring, to be exact. 

“I’ve got it tightened, so it fits you,” he offers softly. 

Smiling weakly, Louis takes the ring out and slips it on his middle finger, feeling warm all over. 

Then he takes the second package, which reveals a dog collar, pastel blue with engraved stones– on the silver tag it reads _Coco ♡_ _Mommy Lou and Daddy Haz’s proud daughter._

Tearing up, he takes it in his shaking hands. 

“I know I shouldn’t give myself titles and all, but that little girlie stole my heart. Her and her mommy, actually,” explains Harry shyly. 

The third box contains shimmering hairpins. 

“I’ve got them embroidered,” he explains, eyeing Louis who’s starting to take them out one by one. 

One of them reads Harry’s name, the other one shows a glittery design – _ H & L _ –, and the rest are just plain. 

In the fourth box lays a catalog of fabrics. Silk, satin, velvet, lace, bouclè, chiffon, linen, faux leather, sequin, and ottoman. 

“These are just samples, the real ones are in the kitchen.” 

Louis looks at him overwhelmed, featherlight brushes on the textures. 

The fifth one reveals an obnoxiously posh pincushion. “Oh my God, where did you buy this?” 

It is the shape of a crown, covered whole in large gold and shimmering stones. 

“Ordered it online. There’s this cute little business that customizes items for dressmakers. I noticed you have some in your room, so I thought one more couldn’t hurt.” 

The sixth and last packaging has Harry sweating. Louis hasn’t reacted to any of the  _ apology  _ gifts still, so he feels very edgy about this one. 

“So, let’s see,” hums Louis, lifting the lid. 

On the cushion lies a belly ring. An array of little polished diamonds forming distinctively two letters:  _ HS.  _

It glitters attractively in the light, radiant and shining, reigning supreme among the velvet case. 

“Haz…” breathes Louis, gripping the box tight. “This is gorgeous…” 

“Yeah? Do you like it?” 

“I adore it!” he sniffles pitifully, afraid he might drop the precious jewel. “You’re a God damn fucker, I swear…” 

“I know, and I’m sorry, nothing hurts me more than seeing you crying,” confesses Harry sincerely. 

Louis closes the distance between them, standing on his tiptoes and wrapping his arms against Harry’s neck, as he slotts their lips together. 

They start tasting each other thoroughly, Harry slips his hands under Louis’ arse cheeks, pulling him up slightly and prodding at his mouth with more urgency. 

“So ask me, then,” whispers Louis, parting their red lips.

“Lou, will you be my boyfriend? So I can stop pretending to be all high and mighty and snog the shit out of you wherever we are?” asks Harry smugly. 

“Mhhhh, let me think about it…,” he ponders fakely, “I guess it’s alright. There aren’t any better offers, yet.” 

Harry growls possessively, clawing at his bum and clearing everything from the bed. 

Louis beckons him to the end of it, pushing him and making him drop his bum on the soft mattress. A thick bulge has grown under his trousers, and Louis eyes it hungrily, thighs warming up. 

Harry grabs him around the middle and pulls him into his lap, sliding his arms around his waist, while Louis’ hands reach towards his crotch. 

“Fuck, baby,” grunts Harry, as the other starts to stroke his hardening shaft. 

His hands start to wander along the curves of his body, lips walking down his neck with soft, wet kisses. 

“H–  _ Haz _ ,” Louis mewls, throwing his head back. 

Harry parts from him, in order to undress him, clothes crumpled to the ground to reveal a finely made pair of black panties, looking so delicate on his skin. “Want you to warm me up a little, baby, can you do that for me?” 

“Yes, please,” he purrs, thrumming excitement creeping back, but before he can drop his knees on the floor, Harry lifts him underneath his armpits. Reaching down blindly, he finds his panties, ripping them to shreds. 

Louis moans wildly at his bulging hands breaking the fabric so easily. 

Harry sits back against the headboard, spreads his legs and takes his cock out. “Come here and give me your honey mouth.” 

Louis shudders, trembling, as he inches Harry’s shirt up to lay a palm flat over his flexed abs, ruby sparkling against his skin. He dives in slowly, savouring every moment, taking his time to breathe on Harry’s thick and tumescent cock. 

Helpless to resist, he pushes his tongue out, moistening the length from the bulging veins to the fattened tip. Harry grasps the back of Louis’ head in his fingers, hungrily pushing him down.

Louis submissively follows his silent orders, stretching his mouth wide open and moaning, all jittery and fidgety. 

Harry feeds him more of his cock down his throat, making it bulge, and nearly comes right there and then when he registers Louis sputtering a little, breathing harshly through his nose, a wet pool of saliva spreading on the bed sheets. 

Louis’ throat works wildly against the head of Harry’s cock, trying to force the intruding member out, but Louis himself isn’t having it, persisting in swallowing more inches. There’s no way he’s going to fit the entire length in, but he might as well try to take as much of it as humanly possible. 

Wrapping a hand around Louis’ neck to feel the lump where his warm crown is stretching his throat, Harry whispers hoarsely. “Easy, baby. Should I move back just a little?” 

Louis looks up, cross eyed and drunk with pleasure. The mere thought of not having Harry’s cock buried safely inside of him right now makes his inside churn angrily. He pushes forward, swallowing more of him challengingly until he’s choking on it and his eyes are spilling hot tears. 

Harry smirks cockily, slipping a finger on the corner of Louis’ mouth alongside his throbbing dick. Fluttering his eyes closed, the smaller one releases muffled high-pitched squeals, suckling at both.

“You’re perfect, my darling baby, always ready for me. I’m so lucky to have you,” he praises, thrusting up tentatively in the enveloping heat. 

Louis gags, slightly withdrawing, loads of drool running out of his mouth and coating both his chin and Harry’s length. He whines high strung and needy, but doesn’t stop suctioning his cheeks. 

“Shhh, baby, you’re okay, is it too much?” asks Harry, petting his hair gently and slowly removing inches of his dick from where it’s nestled. 

But when Louis bobs his head roughly, stroking the skin where his mouth can’t reach with his hand, Harry realizes the problem is not that he’s getting too much. The problem is he’s not getting  _ enough.  _

“You want it deeper, sweetheart?” he asks slyly, prompting a steady rhythm, making loud pop sounds each time the head grazes against Louis’ inner cheeks, drawn loose by two of his fingers now. 

Louis starts squirming, his own little hard prick leaking precum. He lays still, broken whines continuing to leave his mouth. 

“Baby, you’re so warm, you take me so well. I can’t wait to take you, claim you,” he groans, speeding his thrusts. 

Threading his pubic hair with one hand, Louis hollows his cheeks, warm tongue flicking across the gland. 

Harry doesn’t want to come like this. He wants to come inside of his lover, wants to paint his insides white with seed and mark him in the most intimate way. 

So he eases his cock out of Louis red and slick lips, mouth painfully loose. 

“Harry,” pleads Louis, voice raspy and completely fucked out. 

“Sit on my mouth baby, I need to open you up for me.” 

“W–Will you be able to– fit?” 

“Of course, doll, I belong inside of you. Your body was made for my cock, for me to take you and be locked inside of you all the time.” 

Shaking, Louis can’t move on his own, so Harry literally has to lift him up from underneath his thighs and sit him on his face, knees crowning his head and face aimed at the wall. 

Harry glues his mouth to Louis’ clenching hole, and the smaller one starts to rock on his tongue, moaning at how Harry’s pink muscle fills his hole, digging space for what’s to come. 

“Fuck, Haz,” he says incoherently, rotating his hips in a wild and erratic motion to ride Harry’s tongue, legs burning from the straining squatting.

He feels a finger creeping along his rim, inserting itself and crooking, trying to find his sweet spot. 

It’s not until three fingers in that Harry spots it. The way Louis stills, dropping limply on Harry’s face, positively drowning him in his supple and plump flesh, is quite a give away. And he’s coming, as well, soiling the soft fabric of the headboard with his release. 

With a few more swivels of his hips, Louis collapses on Harry’s side, nearly dropping not so graciously from the bed if it weren’t for the strong arms of his  _ boyfriend,  _ circling his drooping body and preventing him from falling. 

“Fucking hell,” he breathes in awe, watching how jerky and sensitive Louis turns out to be. 

Caressing his cheek to calm him down further, he vaguely records Louis yelping and forcing his fingers back into his gaping hole. 

“Harry–  _ Harry _ , please,” he says, voice dripping honey all over Harry’s ears. 

“M’here, doll, what do you need?” he asks, fucking two fingers in and out diligently. 

Louis writhes from overstimulation, smashing his thighs together in discomfort but clenches hard around Harry’s finger, to make sure they don’t slip out of him. “Need you.” 

Harry adds a third finger, slowly this time, unmoving for a few moments, before he resumes spreading his fingers, tasting every inch of Louis’ plush walls. “You have me, I’m yours, baby.” 

“All mine, my Harry,” he rumbles, his small dick twitching back to life when Harry prods at his fluttering hole with a fourth finger in. 

He’s being extra careful with him, not only because he’s huge, but mainly because Louis’ small. So tiny. It takes both of his hands to give Harry a proper handjob, his mouth couldn't cover the whole length even when soft, and four fingers is still going to be a tight fit. 

Harry grunts, removing his wet fingers, and watching Louis’ hips rising off the bed, tense and expectant, willing him to get deeper inside.

“Haz, if you’re comfortable with it, I’m– I’m clean, you know,” murmurs Louis shyly. 

Harry looks at him like utterly star eyed. The sole prospect of Louis wanting him  _ bare _ , their first time together, one obvious display of his devotion, makes him go feral. 

“Oh sweetheart, are you sure? I’m clean too,”  _ –has been for a year, likely–  _ “but I don’t want to put any pressure on you. Is that what you really want?”

“Yes,  _ yes _ , baby, please,” pleads Louis, gliding over Harry’s nipples with his fingers.

Harry nods, shivering at the stimulation, and he strips mindlessly, lubing his cock, before taking his spot between Louis’ open and waiting legs, hooking the heels of his feet over the dimples in his back. 

He grips Louis’ thighs heavily, bruises already forming underneath his fingertips, and he strokes his hard and swollen cock, brushing it barely against the heat of Louis’ opening. 

Louis cries out pitifully, feeling the head of Harry’s cock sliding up and down his crevice, pushing his walls apart without penetrating deeper. 

“Please, take me, I’m yours, all yours,” he hums, opening his mouth in a silent scream and letting the drool pool in the corners of his mouth, soon escaping outside of it to dig a root to his chin. 

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. Slowly, smoothly, he eases his cock deeply in Louis, lapping at the spit on his slobbered chin. 

Louis expands for him, his lithe, small body opening for his hardness, fulfilling his compulsive urge to be filled by him. 

Harry plunges in fully, balls smacking against Louis’ arse. He stills, letting Louis adjust to the foreign stretch, but at the same time relishing the moment himself.    
  
His boyfriend looks celestial, breaths getting heavier and louder as he wiggles in pleasure. He grips his narrow waist, pinching at his sides, and pushes him back against the stained headboard. 

Louis locks his legs around Harry’s hips, nosing appreciatively along his cheek, and biting dazely at the flesh in sight: his ear, his cheek, the underside of his jaw, finally pressing a long peck on his sweaty eyebrow. 

“You’re my flower. Look at the way you flourish for me. The way you blossom to take me,” growls Harry in his mouth, watching Louis’ spectacular blooming. 

“Fuck me deep, Haz,” pleads Louis, sinking his bitten nails harshly in Harry’s sparrows. 

Harry draws his hips away, only to slam his cock back in with even more intent. In and out he bucks his hips, each thrust threatening to knock Louis off the bed.

Slowly relaxing to consume more of it, Louis falters, the heat of Harry’s body spreading out from his quim, reaching into his thighs and womb. 

“Do you feel me, baby? Can see myself inside your belly. C’mon– here, feel,” orders Harry.

He doesn’t notice it at first. It’s only when he brings his hand ‘round to Louis’ belly to give him more support that he feels it, his cock moving in and out of him.

“What–” Louis bears down on Harry, panting broadly.   
  
He holds Louis tightly so he doesn’t slip, and then brings his hand to press against his own belly. 

Louis mewls, melting like thick molasses, as he feels the outline of his cock throbbing forcefully inside of him. After that, Harry loses control.

He drops ungracefully on Louis’ little and open body, pistoning away like a jackhammer and shoving him up the bed. His thrusts become erratic, hurried, desperate, and he grunts, the hoarse growl of a beast ceaselessly ceasing his release. In a rush of concern, he holds Louis’ head in one hand, to stop him from hitting the headboard above.

“Fuck, baby, come for me,” he coats, prolonging his battering ram at Louis’ gates. Louis has to come first, whatever it takes. 

Louis’ vision turns spotty when Harry hits his prostate, a howling scream piercing the air and Harry can’t help but think how fucking loud  _ his _ wonderful boy is. 

“The way you scream for me, baby, and for me only. Do you hear yourself? No one will ever make you scream like I do,  _ ever, _ ” he barks, sinking his digits in Louis’ cushiony skin.

Louis pants miserably and tastes the saltiness of his own tears, “Only you, I don’t need anyone else,  _ just you– Ah,  _ Harry,” he slurs nonsensically, holding Harry impossible close to his chest. 

On his part, Harry seems extremely satisfied with the way Louis is openly displaying his neediness, so he dicks down rougher and glues their bodies together.

In a heartbeat, he has his big hand clasped tight around Louis’ slim throat, and that apparently does the trick. 

  
  
Louis screams bloody murder, eyes rolling in the back of his skull, back arching to meet Harry’s chest while a burning pleasure smolders in his womb. He comes around Harry’s cock, his entire body quivering, thick droplets of release staining both his and Harry’s tattoos. 

He slumps, clenching like a vice around Harry’s shaft. He paints blindly in the pool of cum on their chest with two fingers, lifting shakily to press them against Harry’s plush lips. 

“Look how sweet I am for you,” he purrs, smearing his cream messly all over Harry’s mouth. 

The taller man bites his fingers, slurping madly at the honeyed sweetness. It’s just come, all things considered, and he doesn’t know how, but he soothes his guts like nothing else. 

Keeping eye contact, he darts his tongue out, fucking in between the creases of his fingers roughly and suctioning his cheeks.

Louis feeds him some more, starting to milk Harry’s come out of his body and inside his own, massaging him through his walls.

Harry gathers both Louis’ wrist in front of his face with one hand, preventing him from doing anything, and picks up a quick and messy pace to fulfil his own peak. 

Louis hisses in discomfort from overstimulation, body seizuring in trembles; however, he lies down and takes whatever Harry is willing to give him. “Too much, baby,  _ ah–  _ I can’t, please, come for me H.” 

He clenches incredibly tight around Harry’s pulsing cock and that’s all it takes for him to spill hotly inside of him. “ _ Shit,  _ there you go, baby. So fucking good.”

His first spurt is so strong it has Louis hollering, and he feels it gush so strongly inside of him, followed by a growing, wet warmth as Harry loads his hole with his seed. 

He nuzzles Harry’s sweaty hairline, freeing his hand from Harry’s hold and bringing them in his curls. “Stay here, please.” 

Harry groans, hips bucking up twitchily inside of Louis. He finally collapses on Louis’ lax body, spent and satisfied. He cradles Louis’ cheeks in his hands, squeezing them together and licks lazily into his mouth, suckling at his pursed bottom lip. 

“Of course, baby, lemme just clean you up real quick,” he whispers.

Louis forbids him to move. “No, I mean stay inside of me, don’t pull out.” 

The moisture shining on his pink lips makes Harry dive in once again, forcing his tongue inside languidly. He reaches down to rub Louis’ outstretched rim soothingly. 

“So beautiful and all  _ mine _ .” 

Louis hums, closing his eyes and relaxing in his boyfriend’s arms. “Mhmh, all yours.” 

Harry feels warm, cozy, satiated and content altogether. In Louis’ embrace he starts to believe that there is nothing out there to fear. 

His arms around him bring a peace he’s never known before. Just as the first bite of cold wind comes creeping from the window, Louis’ hand moves around his middle, warm and soft.

With their bodies moulded together, sharing their body heat as easily as they share their heart, Harry lets go, walls crumbling to the ground. 

It feels like love. 

Louis seems aware of him spacing out to have a little moment with himself, so he smiles, glad to be the only one who gets to see Harry’s vulnerabilities and mend them. 

“Do you want me to play with your hair a little? So you can nap?” he asks lovingly, already beginning to scratch his scalp and stroke his earlobes. 

Harry looks up, finding the lone star in his cloudy sky, his  _ sun.  _

_ It is love.  _

—

Glancing at the table clock on the nightstand, Louis squints his eyes as the glaring neon light stares back at him. 3:30 AM. 

A reassuring weight is plastered on his back, warm and inviting, and he snuggles back for good measure. 

Harry shifts slightly, tightening his iron grip on Louis’ waist. He noises along the back of his neck, stuffing his face in the fresh skin.

The sliver of moonlight spills into the room, not enough to ignite the fiery hues of the bright pink rug Louis has gifted him some weeks prior, but enough to navigate between the rough wooden chairs. It feels like a diffused ocean blanketing them and lessening the inky blackness of the night. Louis doesn’t need to get up and draw the curtains open to know that the sky is freckled with stars. 

In a few hours, he will wake Harry up, make him his favorite breakfast and kiss him dumb until he forgets about the test he’s been stressing about the entire week. 

His license boards have finally come. Harry has been preparing so hard for them, Louis might admit he’s probably too good at it.

All of a sudden, a distressed sound comes from behind him, cutting the lulling silence like a blade. 

“Oh, are you having a nightmare? Poor sweetheart, you’re so nervous about tomorrow,” he coos lovingly, craning his neck a bit to plant a kiss right on Harry’s mouth corner.

At that, the taller man starts thrashing around, and Louis notices from his position the uncomfortable arch of his furrowed eyebrows. “Shhh, you’re okay love, go back to sleep.”

Harry grumbles in response, still far from consciousness, so Louis turns around quickly and tenderly swipes across the apple of his cheekbones with his thumbs, soothing his way down to his clenched jaw. 

He starts ever so lightly, caressing his ruffled eyebrows with both of his index fingers. Harry cuddles into his touch, sniveling incomprehensible sounds. 

He strokes his temples and his earlobes, kneading the flesh gently and tucking away wild strands of hair trying to get in the way. Then he begins humming a lullaby in his ear. 

Harry has been beating himself up over this for weeks, no matter how many times Louis has tried to tell him not to worry, that he was already so proud of him. 

Dipping his fingers in his hair and rubbing soothingly at his scalp, Louis  leaves a trail of wet, feather-light kisses on his cheek, his ear, his hair, his eyelids.

Harry’s breath slows, calming down instantly; even at sleep, it is impossible for him to stay anxious or upset with Louis around. His simple touches always send waves of comfort and reassurance that ease the dread settling inside of his guts. 

“I love you so much,” whispers Louis, knowing it will fall on deaf ears.

Louis is proud to say the realization has come peacefully at the time, and has left him content and overwhelmed ever since.

Distraught, honest and vulnerable, Harry has dug a spot in his heart, and has been constantly filling it with love, through all the ups and downs.

Louis drops his hands on Harry’s naked biceps, feeling the lax but firm muscles and gliding over them carefully, from the shoulder to the elbow. He starts drawing circles all over the length, subtly molding the soft skin. 

It’s only when he detects a breathy snore coming out of Harry’s mouth that Louis smiles to himself, happy he could be of help to wash Harry’s bad thoughts away.

He grips his chin delicately, brushing the growing stubble there and wetting his lips before pressing them against Harry’s. 

It’s just a brief contact, a promise kiss to remind him that he is there, he is proud of his accomplishments and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than his arms.

“Sweet dreams, my love.”

  
  


—

  
  


“I swear I’m going to puke.” 

“Oh c’mon Lou, stop being so dramatic.” 

“But I am! Oh my God I feel like fainting, I need to sit the fuck down.” 

Niall narrows his eyes skeptically. 

It’s the end of the semester. Spring came gently, parading strings of blossoming flowers and warm rains, bringing a certain playfulness in the weather. 

Louis and Niall are standing outside the Bio Tower, in which all the medical seniors are currently gathered together to take their USMLE Boards. 

The late evening sunlight, soft and diffused, stares at them, waving with a gentle breeze. 

“He’s going to be fine! Stop stressing so much,” argues Niall, taking a seat next to him on the bench and wrapping an arm around Louis’ shoulder.

After launching into some relentless mission of friendship and loyalty rescue during the past few weeks, Liam, Zayn and Niall managed to get back into Louis and Harry’s good graces. 

Louis picks up Coco effortlessly, adjusting her new collar. “The stress your father puts me through,” he grits, squeezing its squishy face in his hands. 

“Why are you all dressed up, anyway?” asks Niall, petting Coco’s head. 

“I’m not!” 

He is.

He has chosen to wear a cobalt set, matching high waisted, cigarette style trousers, hugging his curves like a glove and a split sleeves blazer that reveals a sweetheart neckline crop top entirely made of  _ pearls.  _ Like literal beads of white and shining pearls. 

The only stripe of skin he has decided to show sports his narrow navel, adorned by a glorious belly ring with  _ Harry’s  _ initials, glimmering wickedly in the sunlight. 

“You’re right, my bad,” Niall scoffs. 

All the reasons not to do this come flooding in, as if his body chemistry just sent them a blanket invitation. Thing is, he’s been trying to find a way to tell Harry for months. 

Falling in love with Harry was so easy. Like entering a house and realizing he’s finally home. Having Harry in his life made him feel like everything’s possible, like their love could conquer them all. 

He saw all of him, the joys and the sorrow, and he just  _ knew  _ he was home. It makes him so overwhelmed now, but in a good way. In a tender, filling, reassuring and beautiful way. 

So it shouldn’t be a bad thing, per se. 

But he’s been psyching himself up about it, feeling the arising soft panic that either grows or fades depending on what he does next. 

He starts moving his leg nervously. “What time is it?” 

“6:30 PM, they should be out soon.” 

Louis’ foresight has been suggesting that a lot of things could go wrong for weeks. 

“What if he fucked up the entire thing and he’s in a bad mood?” he speaks hesitantly. 

“Lou, you do realize that’s extremely unlikely, right? Unless he sat down and all he could think about was your ass, there’s no way in hell he didn’t smash the crap out of this test.” 

Louis nods wearly, fidgeting with Harry’s ruby ring. “What if he’s not ready yet? If he thinks it’s too soon? I mean– I don’t want to pressure him. I’ve fallen in love with him the second I saw him in that cafeteria, y’know? But it might not be the same for him, and everyone has their own pace, I can’t force him–” 

“Lou, that’s neurotic bullshit, and you know it. Harry’s proper gone for you.” 

Louis shrugs. Then Coco jumps out of his lap, racing towards something. Or rather, someone. 

His slender fingers press into the skin of his forearms as he recognizes him in the distance. His whole body shakes, bones rattling in constant fear of the duty that loomes before him. 

His heart starts to pound so hard against his ribcage as his pulse presses outward, twisting and sinking with nerves as he watches them tensely but appearing not to. His heart is hammering but he keeps his gait casual with no hint of hesitation.

“Look who’s here, my baby girl!” coos Harry, picking Coco up and kissing her head, while the pup starts blindly licking all over his face. 

Louis smiles despite himself, taking in the lovely sight.

“And my gorgeous baby boy,” adds Harry, wrapping his free arm around Louis’ waist and pressing a long, yearning kiss on his lips. 

Louis hugs him tightly, nuzzling his face in his chest, breathing in his worn out but still rich scent deeply.

“How did it go?” he asks. He’s a nervous wreck. 

“God Lou, I think I smashed it! I was so focused I finished thirty minutes early each block, I swear I’ve never been this pumped in my life and I–” 

“I’m in love with you.” 

Harry stops dead in his tracks. He vaguely registers Niall, Liam and Zayn laughing in the back, warmth settling all over him. 

He sets Coco down, diligent pup cowering in between Harry’s legs.

Squishing his cheeks, he slots their mouths together, prodding slightly at the seam of his lips. It’s sloppy and off-centered, but sweet nonetheless. 

“I love you too, baby. I’ve been in love with you since the moment you found me lost and broken in the cafeteria. You took me in and put me back together, how could I not love you?” he murmurs happily. 

Louis smiles brightly, pecking Harry’s nose. “I love you, I love you, I love you–”

Harry cuts him off, lifting him up from the ground and swirling around. “I love you with all my heart, baby.” 

“C’mon, love birds! It’s time for celebrations!” Niall yells, hand linked with Liam’s tightly. Zayn’s watching them all with an amused look on his face.

Harry lifts Coco up with one hand and holds Louis’ with the other, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Louis watches the sunset at the horizon, spreading its glow into a grateful sky. Rich hues of red blend with oranges, purples, and crimsons. The orange gold stretches far and wide, the colour of fire hearths and tangerines and pure  _ warmth _ . 

And at the end of the day, it won’t matter how many times they push each other out, they’ll always pull back in. 

**Author's Note:**

> [fic post;](https://behisoneandonly.tumblr.com/post/623650747283914752/push-you-out-pull-you-back-in-explicit-31k)


End file.
